


Hiccup: Gearmaster

by ninjacolin2000



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Magic, Smart Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 115,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjacolin2000/pseuds/ninjacolin2000
Summary: Fueled by the rage of his father's dismissal as a child, Hiccup uses his brilliant mind to create machinery and take revenge on those who snubbed him―or so he planned.  Before too long, he finds that the world is far larger than he ever could've imagined, and that his strength is insignificant against those who lurk in the darkness.  Reuploaded from fanfiction.net, where I've been putting it out for 2ish years.
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Stoick the Vast, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless, Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. The Way it Began

“Hiccup! Have you seen my spare hammer?”

Gobber’s voice yelled out over the metal scraping and hammering of the forge. A scrawny teen put down the sword he was sharpening, and yelled back.

“Did you misplace it again? C’mon Gobber, you do this all the time!”

“Don’t you take that sarcastic tone with me, child. You may be a half-good apprentice, but you’re still years to young to be disciplining me. An’ bulk up a little, ye’ beansprout.” Gobber waved his arm―an arm without a hand―at his apprentice. His stern tone would’ve sent many brave vikings into a cold sweat, but the teen just chuckled, and strained to bring the sword back to the sharpening stone. Gobber turned back to his work, a grin creeping along his face. As he turned away, however, he failed to notice a pair of curious eyes watching him work. Hiccup hid his smile as he placed the sword aside―watching Gobber’s technique, and learning from it.

* * *

Hiccup ran down the mountainside with a bulging sack. He swung his weight around a tree, then bounded off a boulder, landed with a quick roll, and without a hitch, slipped in a near-unnoticeable path that seemed to lead downward into the ground. He slid through the passageway towards a bright light, then with one last squeeze, stepped into the open. Unfortunately, his bag―large and unwieldy―decided at this moment to tear, spilling the contents of Hiccup’s bag everywhere. 

“Aw, c’mon!” he groaned as scrap metal, random bits and pieces of metalwork, rope, and a very nice-looking hammer fell to the ground. Some skittered to the edge, and fell off the ledge that Hiccup stood on. They fell, as if in slow motion, into a beautiful open pond. The ripples slowly moved outwards, towards the clearing. In a near-perfect cylinder, there was a clearing with cliffs 50 feet all around. Roots were gnarled over the edges, and the first time Hiccup had come upon this small grove, he had nearly fallen into it. 

Picking up every bit of his poor man’s treasure, he carried it all into a cave at the end of the cove. After placing it in a crudely-made chest, Hiccup turned, and pulled a tarp off of a slightly warped forge. The patchwork of the metal was obvious, and looked like it had been worn down over years of use.

“Man…” Hiccup sidled out to the edge of the lake, and looked down through the water. “I really need that hammer…” He looked around, searching for signs of any wandering eyes―then chuckled quietly to himself. “If anyone else was around to see this, I wouldn’t be here.”

Stripping down, he slipped into the glassy, blue cover. The smooth sheen of the water was interrupted by ripples as he dove under. Many feet under the surface, Hiccup floated along the ground, and regained his newly acquired―rather, stolen―hammer. Opening his eyes, he watched the light filter through the water like a kaleidoscope, streamers of light shimmering over his body. With an unreadable expression, he pushed off the rocky ground and glided to the surface.

Drying himself off with long, languid movements, Hiccup brought his new hammer to the forge. He had made it himself with scraps and a vague blueprint that he had drawn. He had spent many sleepless nights secretly welding and hammering the metal. Somehow, he had never been caught―although his father likely just ignored him, hoping something useful would come out of Hiccup’s life for once. 

Shifting through his collection, he chuckled at the thought. How would his father―the flawless chieftain of Berk―react if he found his son inventing strange devices after he had forbidden it. Vikings simply couldn’t understand his brain. Anything that couldn’t be thrown, swung, or used as a blade wasn’t worth making.

With an angry grunt, Hiccup slammed down a heavy collection of metal pieces that he would soon use onto the bed of his forge. Lighting a warm flame underneath and pumping the bellows, he couldn’t help but to allow his mind to drift off to that memory…

* * *

_The night was late, but the moon shone brightly. As some vikings began to patch holes in roofs or smother fires, from the Haddock house, angry voices could be heard in a loud competition._

_“I will not allow it!”_

_“But… Dad! These ideas I have could change the way we fight them!”_

_“What does ‘I will not allow’ mean to you, Hiccup?” Bellowed Stoic the Vast―the viking legend―at his scrawny eleven-year-old son. “These ideas are nonsense!”_

_“Just let me prove them to you! Gobber said he’d teach me to smith, and―” Hiccup was cut off abruptly by his father’s glare._

_“You are testing my patience, Hiccup.” Stoic let out a warning tone like a distant roll of thunder. “You act as if you could change the viking way? Change our village? We are vikings, son. You should know the weight that lays upon your shoulders. Your mind is too free. We live and die on this island! Nothing is more important than the protection of our own!” Stoic lowered himself onto a stool, clearly out of breath. He calmed himself, then cut his son off again. “You will be allowed to learn to smith, boy. But know this―I will give Gobber strict orders against allowing any mechanisms you want to create. You have never impressed me, but now, son, I’m disappointed. You are nothing._

_Stoic’s voice trailed off as he walked out the rough oak door, to help his clan―slamming it behind him, cutting off his son’s weak retort._

_Hiccup stood, the silence after the storm deafening him, holding him in place. He fully understood what his father had proclaimed, but his mind wouldn’t listen. It couldn’t. He shook his head―tears leaking out of his eyes._

_Within minutes, Hiccup had gathered everything he owned. 3 pencils. A notebook. A threadbare blanket. A small knife that had been gifted to him by his cousin. It gleamed sharp in the moonlight as Hiccup left the backdoor. Like a shadow, unseen by all in the night, he fled._

_Berk is a place of beauty for some. But as the child ran through the underbrush and down paths of his own creation, it was nothing but a strange land of terror and pain. The child’s tears intermingled with fresh blood welling up from small cuts all over his face and arms. His sobs were muffled by his teeth―clenched like a fist. Dashing through trees and brush and weeds, he nearly lost his footing at the edge of a sheer cliff. His sobs morphed into a screech, as he reached for nearby foliage with a manic fear. His momentum slowed, and he stared out into the strange, circular area that he had come across._

_His heart had been beating at a furious pace after the stress of his flight, and the fear from a near-death fall, but somehow, he felt his heart jump one last time as his eyes fell upon it._

_“It’s The Shadow!” He barely whispered, fearing he may alert the monster to his presence. This beast, while not as infamous as the night fury, was a Deadly Nadder that had repeatedly terrorized the village. With its uncharacteristically dark colored scales, it had become a devilishly elusive prize, often escaping into the night. Any family would pride itself to hang its dark azure scales in their house._

_Staring down on the majestic beast, hiccup watched it attempt to stand and fly―failing at both. To his surprise, the dragon’s left wing and leg were mangled and barely even attached. Blood spewed onto the ground in multiple places, and the dragon laid his head down to rest with a cry of pain. Hiccup watched in awe and in disgust―then a terrible thought slipped into his mind. He watched, and plotted…_

* * *

Hiccup shook his head, bringing him back to reality. His fire was raging, and his tools were prepared; he looked at the blueprint he had sketched. He picked it up, took a long, pointed piece of metal, then pinned the blueprint into the wall―in addition to a line of similar-looking sketches. He looked deeper into the cave, and grinned evilly.

“So...what should I add to it now?”

  
  



	2. Cleverness against Guts

Sparks flew like fireflies around a masked face shrouded in darkness. It was evening, but the masked figure paid no attention to his surroundings―his attention wholly focused on his forge and anvil. Metal scraps littered the floor, and sent long, sprawling shadows across the cave’s ground across from the bright orange glow of the forge’s flame. 

The person behind the mask fidgeted, staring into the forge’s burning heat, watching the metallic color between his tongs merge with orange. He pulled it out, placed it, and began hammering it with a ferocity known only in wild beasts. Once it was shaped, he plunged it into a barrel of cold water and listened to it hiss like an angry viper.

He lifted it out, placed it to the side, and repeated the process with a dull, methodical drudge. The razorlike tines that he had created shone on one side with the orange glow of the forge, and reflected the colorless shine of the moon on the other. With a fluid movement, the smith removed his dragon-scale mask, revealing the sweaty face of Hiccup Haddock. Running his fingers over the dull metal triangles that he had forged, he gazed outwards, at the barely visible sliver of moon.

Hiccup suddenly stiffened, and a quiet swear escaped his lips. 

“I had better get back.” 

Running to change his clothes and smother his forge, Hiccup’s mind was in shambles. How had he not noticed the passing of time? He berated himself, but the damage had already been done. Hopefully, he could return home before his father, and avoid a pointless, one-sided fight. As Hiccup dashed through the forest, his mind drifted―back to another fight that had shaped his future…

* * *

_Hiccup sat in silence, observing the muted movements of The Shadow―slow and pained. It moved its injured wing toward itself, crying out softly in the process. It hobbled slowly to the edge of the cove, leaving a trail of broken scales and blood behind it. Settling down, it breathed out flames, creating a small nest of charred ground. All of this, Hiccup watched, captivated by the cruel beauty of nature._

_Beginning to move from his hidden position, Hiccup calculated how he could prove himself. His father had disowned him? Told him he was worthless? A cold smile, devoid of any joy, crept its way upon Hiccup’s face. He would prove his father―the perfect chieftain―wrong._

_Creeping around the edge of the cove, Hiccup stalked his prey. His plan was childish―foolish―but in his dazed stupor, he had complete faith in himself. He placed his items on the ground, all thoughts of running from his home now gone, and looked them over. Pencils and a journal were of no use to him, but he could use the blanket and the knife._

_Twisting the blanket into a tightly-wrapped rope, Hiccup snagged it in a protruding root, put his knife between his teeth, and began to climb down. Thirteen feet down the wall, Hiccup was at the end of the makeshift rope. Planting his feet, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw the remaining distance to the ground._

_It was much farther than he had anticipated._

_He shifted his weight―then shifted again―and again. He tried to calculate distance, or where to fall, or how to escape this perilous position that he had foolishly brought himself to. As he thought, however, his blanket-rope began to tear. He felt himself slowly drifting backwards before he heard it, and once he jolted forward with the horrifying notion of what was occuring, he provided the force necessary to tear the blanket fully in half. With a choked yell, Hiccup fell._

_With a painful, jarring thump, Hiccup hit the ground like a stone. A fleshy, human-sized stone, that could feel pain and react to it. And react he did―scrambling for the nearest boulder in search of a place to hide from the eyes of the injured dragon. Concealing himself, he began to shiver with fear and anticipation. He lifted one shaking hand to massage his newly bruised shoulder as his other hand flung the torn blanket away. He tasted blood, and his throbbing tongue told volumes._

_Swimming through the shock, Hiccup’s mind slowly dawned upon the reality that his mouth no longer held his knife. “The knife!” He whispered as urgently as possible. Heedless of consequences, he turned, and slowly began to creep out from behind the boulder. Surveying the area, he moved slowly as to not awaken the sleeping beast. His eyes snagged on a shining knife stuck point-first into the ground...five feet from the sleeping Shadow._

_“Oh, that’s just great” groaned Hiccup._

_Any sane person would leave. Any sane person would walk away and thank their lucky stars they had survived. Even most vikings would attempt escape―unarmed and discombobulated as he was. But not Hiccup. Driven to the breaking point by his father and his clan, he felt nothing as he slowly crept towards the sleeping menace, the beautiful beast._

_Hiccup found himself five feet from a mass of dark blue shadow. Soundlessly, emotionlessly, he bent to pick up his knife. It was cold against his warm skin, and seemed to weigh much heavier than any blade could. Hiccup walked up to the dragon, sleeping to escape the pain of reality. Hiccup lifted his blade._

_“I’m gonna kill you, dragon” Hiccup muttered to no one in particular. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father.” He lifted the knife above his head, searching―searching―for that one perfect spot for the knife to enter. He looked to the nose―not important enough. He looked to the eye closest to him―not likely to kill it right away. He looked to the crown of the neck, the point that was often protected by a ridge of spikes protruding from the back of a Nadder’s head. But not now. The Shadow was unprotected, offering its weak point on a silver platter to the young viking reject. Hiccup inhaled, then exhaled. He paused, and wondered in a rational corner of his mind if he truly had to do this. But he steeled himself. He lifted the knife._

_And he struck._

_Objectively, it was a terrible choice to attack at all. As if from a bird’s eye view, Hiccup watched himself stab the Nadder. It entered three inches, hitting bone. Then the pain brought him back to reality. It had woken―rather, been woken―and in response, had bitten at it’s attacker. Hiccup stumbled backwards, one arm burning as if on fire, the other weakly gripping a bloody knife. The Shadow stumbled to its feet, crying out from the new pain in its neck. Hiccup’s daze was gone, replaced by fear and pain. He looked at his arm, while keeping a wary eye on the dragon; a small chunk had been taken out of his forearm, due likely to The Shadow’s injuries keeping it from moving the way it meant to._

_It felt much bigger._

_Hiccup stalled. Should he run? Hide? He’d never beat a Deadly Nadder, much less a special breed, in a match of strength, stamina, or speed. His weaponry was shoddy, and he was weak. What was he doing?_

_The Shadow breathed in a deep breath. Hiccup stumbled backwards, tripping, as it sprayed a thin line of fire towards him, missing his hair by inches. It stumbled at the difficulty, clearly off balance._

_Hiccup observed this, and with a shrewd eye, caught the problem. “Huh. Why can’t your tail lift? That’s strange, isn’t it?” speaking directly to the beast, he caught a whiff of helplessness. Its eyes narrowed and it shifted uncomfortably. He grinned. He could win after all―it was more injured than it had let on._

_“Nadders have a shot limit of 6! If I count that it charred a patch of ground earlier, plus an obvious fight earlier, it should only have a few shots left!” thought Hiccup, relaying the memory from his perusal of the Dragon Manual. He lowered his stance and brought his arms up to mimic the fighting pose he always watched his father attack from. The dragon waited patiently, clearly at a disadvantage. Suddenly, Hiccup lunged forwards._

_“It’ll favor its right side, so I’ll attack from the left!” Hiccup mumbled, rushing to the left while simultaneously gritting his teeth to endure a wave of pain from his left arm. The Shadow, unfortunately, seemed to understand the same thing. It hopped to the left, barely staying on its feet. With a squawk, it breathed in for another blast of fire._

_A wave of heat flew by Hiccup as he dove to the side. “This is my chance!” he exclaimed―kicking off to run straight at the creature. Shocked by this seemingly suicidal rush, The Shadow swung its body downward to fling spines at the boy...but to no avail. The tail barely moved, as if it had been cut from the beast’s control completely. Hiccup grinned, the momentary fear that he felt disappearing. As The Shadow squawked in surprise, Hiccup thrust his dagger into its mouth, hitting the unprotected fleshy throat behind the sharp teeth._

_Feeling the warm blood begin to run down the knife and between his fingers, he began to pull away, but to his confusion, he was unable. Looking down, he found the Nadder’s jaws clamped around his upper arm―not hard enough to hurt, but instead only hard enough to keep him in place. Looking up into its eyes, Hiccup saw a cleverness that rivaled a human’s. His confusion was quickly replaced by a manic fear. The dragon had begun to breathe in, and Hiccup felt a different kind of heat than the hot blood on his knife._

_As he jerked himself backwards, a stream of heat blew out, barely inches from his hand, and scorching the knife he had gripped in his hand. The burst was muted, the blood seeming to choke the dragon. In its last moments able to stay standing, it lashed its leg out, cutting a long gash in Hiccup’s right thigh. Then, it fell to the ground―releasing Hiccup’s hand, and rasping for its last breaths. Hiccup flung the white-hot knife away from him and massaged his heavily blistered hand. Approaching The Shadow, he knelt to get closer to it._

_“You’re smarter than you seem” mumbled Hiccup to the prone dragon. “No animal could have done something like that...but you must be much more intelligent than any old animal, huh?” It groaned in response, but Hiccup shushed it. “This is my fault. You’re going to die because of me.” He paused, then lowered his head until it was laying on top of the dragon’s. “You can’t understand me, but know this: I don’t feel any sorrow for killing you. I won, and I won’t feel sorry. But I understand you now, and I will respect your death. This is the last I can do for you.”_

_Hiccup retreated, and with its last breath, he could’ve sworn the dragon had stared back at him with a level, trusting glare―as one would give to an equal. Thus, The Shadow died._

_And with that, Hiccup collapsed._

* * *

Hiccup ran up the mountain, then crested the hill behind his house. He paused, gasping for breath. His eyes scanned the horizon, and admired the moon’s reflection on the ocean. Moving his eyes closer, his heart dropped like a stone as he noticed a different light; an orange like the sunset exuding from the window of his house.

His father was home.

  
  



	3. A Well-earned Rest

Hiccup, breathing heavily, paused before the door to his own house. Staring reluctantly at the light filtering out from under the door, Hiccup went through his list of options for the fifth time. Firstly, he could try and sneak in without alerting his father, but this was unlikely to work, due to his father’s tendency to stay awake until the late hours, stoking the fire. Hiccup shook his head at the thought ―he was in no hurry to fall under his father’s watchful eye. 

Secondly, he could try his luck finding a spare bed in another house. There were few vikings his age, and an even smaller number who he would consider friends―but no doubt that feeling was one-sided. However, the few that he had known to be more tolerant of his status of “useless” would surely not be given permission to let him in. Both himself and his peers were verging on the age of adulthood, but none had begun living on their own as of yet. Hiccup passed on this idea as well. 

Thirdly, he could spend the night curled up in a shed, or find a comfortable spot outside to sleep. But the night on Berk always brought a chill with it, and this night was no exception. Hiccup looked around, his eyes falling upon a patch of grass that he had often slept on, when he had been rejected from every other house. It was never unusual for a house to be under repair after a dragon raid, thus it was never unusual for a viking to sleep outside, or at a comrade’s house, or even in the Great Hall. Hiccup, unfortunately, had had this phenomenon occur often. Either to avoid his father’s rage, or because no family would hold him overnight while his home was under repair, he had become accustomed to the frigid nights.

Hiccup scratched the back of his head―as he did so, he realized how stiff he was. After a long day of smithing with gobber, then nearly two miles of a mountainous path to the cove, he was exhausted. But he pushed himself every day to work more―invent more―create more. Afterwards, he had to return the two-mile trek home. Even the most stout viking would be well-deserving of a hearty supper and a warm bed.

Hiccup grimaced. He knew which option he would have to choose, but he still delayed―racking his mind for a fourth option, an option he had missed, a chance that a different choice still remained. 

He knew he was prolonging the inevitable. He walked through the doorway.

The warmth of the hearthfire in the center of the room filled the room―almost masking the unwelcoming chill Hiccup felt as he looked upon his father’s broad shoulders and bowed back. His father gave no indication that he had heard Hiccup enter, and poked at the coals at the base of the fire. Hanging in front of Stoick, there was a near-empty pot of stew over the fire. One wooden bowl lay on the table, with the bare remains of a lonely meal recently eaten. Next to it, to Hiccup’s surprise, was an empty bowl. Hiccup paused, and wondered if it was meant for him; he considered retreating to his room, but an uncomfortable emptiness gnawed at his stomach.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, Hiccup moved. With a quick stride, he walked into his father’s line of vision and picked up the bowl. Hiccup paused, then moved to collect the stew remaining over the fire. As he did so, he heard a breathy sigh, barely audible over the snapping and crackling of the fire.

“Where were you today?”

Hiccup heard, but couldn’t process the words. He raised his head, meeting his father’s deep emerald eyes. They were wise and expectant, waiting for his answer.

“Wh-What?”

“I know you heard me, boy. Where were you, getting home so late?” Stoick grumbled at his child, his patience visibly waning.

“I-I was...smithing with Gobber.” Hiccup hated himself for the stutter, and the weak answer. He found himself with a dry mouth, as he always seemed to have while speaking to his father. It tasted bitter and disgusting.

“Really.” Stoick pierced through him with what seemed like an all-knowing voice. “I find that unlikely, since I was just in a strategy meeting with him, and the rest of the family leaders...for two hours." Stoick’s eyes drilled into Hiccup like needles.

“I...Well, I was just sharpening...some of the weapons…” Hiccup’s heart fell at the obviousness of the lie, but Stoick seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, his heart elsewhere. At least he hadn’t begun a one sided shouting rant...at least, not yet. Hiccup hoped to keep it that way.

“I received some news some news from trader Johann today, it seems that my brother was killed in a dragon raid.” Hiccup’s ears perked up at the notion that the trader had stopped by at their island, but kept his eyes on his supper as Stoick kept speaking. “It has come to my attention that you, Hiccup, will―in time―be the one to receive the duties of chief, as it had my father, and his father before him. You are my only heir, and you must be prepared to carry, and one day pass the title of chief.”

Hiccup swallowed, carefully thinking his words over before he let them leave his mouth. “Why are you telling me this now, Dad? Can’t someone else take the role? The Jorgensons―”

“Where is your pride?” bellowed Stoick, like a rolling thunder. “They may share some blood with us, but we are the ones with the status of chief. Our family line has stayed strong, just as our viking blood keeps us here.” His voice was steadily rising. “You will learn to fight dragons and forget your insubordinate thoughts. Do not think that your sneakery has gone unnoticed.” Hiccup’s heart dropped, and his blood ran cold as the seawater surrounding Berk. “Gobber has told me how you watch his smithing, how you still sketch blasphemous ideas of your own. I gave you an apprenticeship in hope that you would learn discipline and the viking way. You may not be the foolish son I once had, but you certainly have not changed into a viking. You will begin dragon training along with the others, but do not even begin to hope that this conversation is over! Your reluctance disappoints me, son.” 

Stoick stood, no longer looking towards Hiccup. He began to walk to his room, mumbling quietly to himself “It seems I have no choice but to discuss moving things along with them…” Hiccup had no inkling of what his father could be referencing. As the bedroom door slammed shut, Hiccup felt his entire body relax, like a muscle being stretched.

There are two kinds of anger. The first, most common, is red―it burns like a fire and drives rash children to violence, or ignorant laymen to a grudge. This anger begins in the stomach, sparking and burning outwards, using and consuming its wielder. The second, less common anger is an icy white. It is a cold, cruel anger that submerges its victims and brings them to do truly terrible things. While the first anger begins in the stomach, this second kind begins in the brain, and cascades downward like a waterfall until the person is full of this cold cruelty. This anger never leaves, only subsides and flows differently until someday, it crystalizes like ice―and shatters like glass. This anger filled Hiccup as his body relaxed, filling him to the brim and making him feel empty.

Hiccup looked down at his supper, no longer hungry. He tried to take another bite, to at least fill his empty stomach, but his tongue could taste nothing. He stood and walked to the stairs to his room, then walked up them quietly, hoping his father was already asleep. Hiccup felt a daze of grey color passing around him, and a wave of exhaustion hit him like a punch. He found himself on his bed, barely conscious as the physical and emotional stress came crashing down on him all at once. Crawling underneath his blanket, he passed out nearly instantly. As he fell into a deep sleep, his body finally relaxed―he finally escaped the terrors of the world. He slept deeply, dreaming of his past in a well-earned rest.

* * *

_ Hiccup caught himself, turning his collapse into a strange-looking trip. Feeling fuzzy-headed, he looked down and realized the severity of his wounds. His heart beating at a fast pace, he muddled through his near-drugged state and attempted to find a solution to his plight. _

_ To give perspective on the child’s appearance, only this can be said. He was wretched. Many vikings had taken near-fatal wounds that had been less grievous than the injuries that young Hiccup was currently wearing. His left arm was bleeding from a gash left by the Shadow’s first attack, his right arm was bruising from the grip of the Shadow’s teeth, as well as blisters running up his arm like snakes. Moving downwards, his right leg was slit along the side, and it bled in a worrisome way. The still-glowing knife on the ground just feet from his blistered feet; his shoes had been torn during the fight. _

_ He began to panic. He had seen the kinds of scars that the viking families prided themselves for receiving, but he wanted no part in that kind of discussion. As Hiccup’s adrenaline rush faded, his stress and pain replaced it. He rushed to where he had left his torn blanket, and began to attempt to tie it over one of the cuts. He had barely placed the blanket over the wound, however, before it was soaked in the bloody waterfall. _

_ Hiccup’s breathing was becoming shallow, and he began to sway on his feet. Stumbling slightly, he walked slowly to his victim’s corpse. He stood, staring at the motionless body with nothing but air and a glowing knife between them, as he frantically whispered to himself. _

_ “What can I do? I-I don’t want to die! I’m soaked with blood though…” He looked down at himself, and a small, rational corner of his mind took control of his body. Hiccup was nearly unconscious, nearly dead, and barely able to move or think rationally, but his mind moved past it all. As if controlled by a puppeteer, he moved. _

_ Mechanically, Hiccup reached for his searing-hot knife. His hand flinched backwards at the heat―the handle’s leather covering could not shut out all of the heat coursing through the metal. Regardless, his mind pushed. His hand moved. A vague tickle in Hiccup’s mind alerted him to the pain running into his hand. His mind ignored it. _

_ Lifting the knife up, Hiccup heard Gobber’s voice in his head from a memory many years ago. “We don’t have a choice. He might bleed out by the time we get him to Gothi―lay him here.” Hiccup watched the image play out inside his head, as he had watched it, years ago. “The metal’s hot enough. Get something in his mouth, or he’ll be screaming bloody murder.” Gobber approached the injured viking with a red-hot strip of metal. He lifted it, then placed it near the man’s injury. “Ready? Grit yer teeth, son.” Gobber pressed the metal to the man’s wound. There was steam, a smell, and a scream muffled by teeth and a dirty shirt, but after Gobber backed away, the man was no longer bleeding. _

_ Hiccup’s quickly fading consciousness watched as he moved the knife to his left forearm. He held himself fast, but he had begun to shiver in the Berk air―not to mention the loss of blood. His mind took control. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the hot metal to his arm. _

_ In his dazed state, the pain took longer to register, but when it did―and it undoubtedly did―it felt like hell to the boy. His arm was wracked with a burning, painful feeling. The pain was so great that with a flush of adrenaline, Hiccup woke from his half-conscious state. Looking at his arm and seeing the blistered skin, he nearly fainted away. He realized, however, that he had emergency-treated the wound. No matter how much it hurt, it was no longer bleeding. _

_ Hiccup looked downwards, towards his gashed leg, and grimaced, bringing the knife down, close to the wound. Nearly an inch away, and he already felt the heat radiating off of the blade. _

_ “How on earth did I get myself to put this on my arm? This is going to hurt!” Hiccup said out loud―not to anyone in particular, just to reassure himself, to hear a voice. Unfortunately, the strange, daze-like sensation he had been feeling until seconds ago seemed to have retreated to the dark recesses of his mind. He gritted his teeth, and braced himself. _

_ Pressing the superheated knife to his leg, Hiccup swore like a drunken sailor and a hardened viking rolled into one. Gnashing his teeth, he nearly bit off his tongue, and tasted the blood well up. After what he deemed an appropriate amount of time, Hiccup ripped the knife from his leg and flung it into the pond nearby. It hit the surface with an angry hiss, then sunk into the shallow edge of the water. _

_ Breathing heavily, Hiccup sat down. Trembling, he laid down to rest. The fatigue of the past hour had accumulated, and all at once it hit him, like a charging dragon. He felt pain beyond anything he had ever gone through and exhaustion rivaling many days worth of fatigue. _

_ He suddenly jerked himself off the ground. He had to get home. His father would likely have finished helping with initial repairs by now, but would he notice Hiccup’s absence from their house? Even if he didn’t notice now, if his son was found missing overnight, what would he think? What could Hiccup say in defence? _

_ Fighting through the pain Hiccup stood―weakly―and attempted to look over the walls for handholds, or anything that he could use to escape this nature-made trap. Inspecting the walls, he observed a weak, easily broken type of rock interspersed between layers of rough, unbreakable rock. An hour later, with no other leads on escape, Hiccup began attempting to claw handholds into these weak layers. _

_ Quickly, Hiccup found how inconvenient and painful doing so would be. Even though he had found a convenient boulder jutting out to climb on, and what seemed to be a crevice opening to the surface, the space between them was still much too far. Scraping at the walls of his prison did nothing but bloody his fingertips and tire him even more. He left the wall for a short amount of time to try and retrieve his knife, but when he found it, it had warped and bent in the cold water. After scraping out a barely usable foothold with the knife, it snapped with a sharp ringing noise.  _

_ Barely awake, barely conscious, and fading more every second, Hiccup was at his wit’s end. A cold wind blew through him, ruffling the grass and forcing ripples across the water’s glassy surface. The chill that ran through him seemed to spark a feeling of deja vu―a similarly hopeless, exhausted state he had been in. His mind ran backwards, attempting to figure out how he had slipped into the trance-like state earlier. _

_ He shivered in the cold light of the moon, and delved deeper into his mind―trying to find the vague feeling of freezing warmth, the cold unknowingness, trying to find the entrance.  _

_ In what seemed to be a perfect coincidence, three occurrences showed themselves like rare beasts from a cave. Firstly, Hiccup was weak―and while seeing this would be no surprise to an outsider, it was imperative. Secondly, on this cloudless night, the moon failed to shine down upon Berk. Few vikings ever noticed this―even Hiccup was unaware―but for a short while, the moon’s icy glare did not grace Berk’s shore. Lastly, and most unexpectedly, a breath of warm air blew across the mountain. Hiccup felt this, and with a slight smile, he let his consciousness float away. _

_ Hiccup’s body existed without gravity, falling for simply a moment, then his mind took over. A shady, secret corner of his mind. A place that somehow invaded, controlled, and helped him survive. He moved. _

_ He moved in an inhuman way, like a lizard or a bug. Gripping tiny rocks jutting out of the wall in ways that tore at his fingertips, or crawling along the wall as if he was drawn to it, he reached the crevice that he had seen at the top of the wall. The crevice reached halfway down the cliffside, but reaching it was still a nearly inhuman feat of strength and dexterity. _

_ Reaching the top, Hiccup’s mind acknowledged the pain running through his hands but refused to look at the damage that had been done. Seeing that the strenuous trek up the cliffside had been resolved, Hiccup took back control of his body. _

_ Except that he couldn’t. _

_ Hiccup felt a whisper, heard a shadow, and watched his body move against his will. Watching powerlessly, his body moved to the mind’s wishes. It lifted his hands, then looked down at his body. Hiccup felt himself chuckle a sick, disgusting chuckle that he never would have let loose his lips. Hiccup watched as his body tested its limits―stretching and flexing his scrawny, injured body. He turned to a nearby tree―thicker than a viking’s waist, and undoubtedly more solid. His body wound up, then stepped forwards in a strange pose and threw three swift punches in quick succession. Left on the tree were three marks―if you could call small craters ‘marks’.  _

_ The mind, seemingly forgetting about Hiccup’s presence in his own head, began to relay tomes of knowledge pertaining to many things. Medicine, astrology, body training, strange contraptions and animals and ways to fight all flowed through his mind―with Hiccup unable to react, simply watching. His body shook like a twig, then erupted with laughter. He opened his mouth and spouted gibberish like a madman. His eyes reflected the darkness in the moonless night sky―they appeared as black rubies, glittering with darkness.  _

_ He calmed himself, and turned to gaze over the cove one last time. As he did so, his eyes caught sight of something that brought Hiccup to fight back―The Shadow.  _

_ Had he killed it simply to be taken control of by a coward in the shadows? Was his vow to respect its death so flimsy? Hiccup’s suppressed consciousness broke free of its chains. With a burst of strength like thor himself, Hiccup grappled with his own mind. His body flailed, Hiccup and the presence both controlling different parts, and neither working with the other. He fell to the ground, pressing both hands to his head, as―suddenly, the controller’s presence vanished. Hiccup stood, and probed his mind for a sign of it. _

_ A shadow remained at the edges of his consciousness, and he felt it, like a shadowy cloak. He could feel the way to immerse himself now, but breathing heavily, he quietly told himself that he would never again do so.  _

_ The fear of powerlessness remained, but the greatest gift, however, was the gift of knowledge. At eleven, Hiccup may have been brilliant, but he was also just a child. However, after this frightful affair, he still was able to recall the majority of the knowledge that the controller had paraded in front of his eyes. The result of this was Hiccup’s quick maturity, and his intelligence increasing as well. _

_ Finally in control of his own skin, Hiccup walked home. He had no idea how long it took him to return, it could’ve been ten minutes, it could’ve been an hour. Regardless, when he arrived, the vikings were dead to the world, sleeping soundly after successfully defended dragon raid. Hiccup crept into his own house, and moved lightly as a moth into his room. _

_ He noted to himself to go back the next few days, so he could collect The Shadow’s scales, teeth, and other spoils of victory. He looked himself over―he was ripped, battered, bloody and bruised. He knew he would have to find an excuse for his injuries, and would have to live with the disapproval of his father unless he showed the dragon’s corpse… _

_ “But…” Hiccup mumbled to himself, “what if the so-called ‘useless’ ideas...resulted in my rise to the top of the island? Just how foolish would my father look then?” Hiccup’s dark smile radiated a frightening aura. Barely three hours ago he was killing a dragon to receive his father’s approval, but now he had turned that idea on its head. Hiccup’s genius intellect was already working at full capacity, putting the puzzle of his plan together. _

_ As he laid himself down, uncomfortable and blanketless, his eyes slid closed and his body relaxed as it never had before. After the unexpected events of the night, his body and mind needed rest. He drifted away almost immediately, but stayed tethered just long enough to hear an ominous whispering from the back of his mind. He shut it out, and began to ponder the possibilities of how to escape from his own mind’s darkness. Quickly, he fell into a deep sleep―a well-earned rest. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that it's worth noting that the flashbacks are happening when Hiccup is eleven, and the current time shows Hiccup at 16, like during the first movie.


	4. Intelligence is a Hidden Dagger

“I could kill three...no, four of them if I needed to. All five if I attacked first.”

This was the first thought that ran through Hiccup’s head as he walked into the dragon arena; not a conscious thought, but a way he had conditioned himself ―as if everyone, everywhere was plotting to kill him. He analyzed the area―a mental exercise that he practiced often. Shields lay to the side of the ring, while rocks and pebbles were piled against the walls. The other teens were grouped near the entrance, and their heads turned as he ducked under the portcullis and stepped into the ring, interrupting their discussion about their hopes―specifically regarding the badges of honor that their scars would so certainly be.

“Oh great, who let him in?” groaned Tuffnut, eliciting a short outburst of chuckles. It may have been a passing remark, and one directed at him often, but it still cut Hiccup deeply. The twins had once been his friends, caring less about innate viking-ness and instead more interested in the caliber of pranks he could pull off, or other strange ventures they would go about in the day-to-day. Unfortunately, Stoick heard of the antics that the three of them got into, and quickly found ways to separate Hiccup from the two of them. Eventually, they became strangers to the ‘worst’ viking.

Gobber herded them to the middle of the ring. The young vikings looked around eagerly and fidgeted uncomfortably in the cold Berk air. This was their dream, finally coming to pass in front of them. 

Their teacher circled around them, listing off the dragons they had in captivity as the beasts rattled in their cages. Hiccup ignored the dragons and gobber’s voice; instead, he thought back to when he had walked into the arena. Was five too generous of an estimate? Hiccup closed his eyes in thought.

Out of the teens, Fishlegs was undoubtedly the weakest. Slow, cowardly, and overweight―even for a viking. However, his intellect was closer to Hiccup’s than anyone else on the island. They were never friends, but they had exchanged friendly conversation before, speaking about opinions from the dragon book, or about recent dragon attacks. Even now, Hiccup could hear him chanting the dragon’s “stats” in response to Gobber. Hiccup decided to move on―that would not be a fight worth taking the time to imagine. 

Next was Tuffnut, and in a near-identical category, Ruffnut. Both used two-sided spears, and while certainly more dangerous than Fishlegs, they both would be rather unlikely to pose a threat to Hiccup. They were distracted easily, were quick to distract others, and seemed to devote their lives to irritating anyone nearby them. There were few exceptions to the list of vikings they were willing to irritate, but Gobber seemed to be one of those few. Hiccup moved on.

Snotlout was an interesting mix of disgusting self-praise, big-headedness, and a small amount of skill that put him barely above average, compared to most vikings at their age. Being buffer than most of the teens made him arrogant, but his family was what made him act like a spoiled prince. The Jorgenson family was the largest, and its fingers stretched everywhere on the island―the only thing they didn’t have a strong claim to was the title of chief, and even that wasn’t completely out of their reach. They were related to the Haddock family by an ancestor, and thus, Snotlout’s constant one-upsmanship was to show the world his superiority compared to a certain “failure”. Unfortunately for him, with some sneakery and eavesdropping over the past few years, Hiccup had learned that even Snotlout had some skeletons in his closet. Apparently, Snotlout frequently visited other houses to “spend time” with various women. Even now, he was distracted, trying to get Astrid’s attention on him. 

Snotlout may have be above average, but he’s not worth comparing to myself.” thought Hiccup sinisterly.

The last of the teens was Astrid. The shining gem among rocks. The cream of the crop. Everyone in the ring―in fact, everyone on the island―knew that she was the strongest. She ran faster, climbed higher, and worked harder than anyone else. Not only that, but she was intelligent for a viking, as well. Not Fishlegs’ book smart, or Hiccup’s genius, but instead had an animalistic instinct for battle. In the previous annual island-wide fighting tournament, she beat adults down both quickly and precisely. Those young, old, skinny or overweight, all were defeated by her. The number of full-grown vikings who had fought her and won could be counted on two hands.

She had a prideful, icy gaze that pierced like an arrow. Even in the grime of the kill ring, she held her queen-like pose―as if she was above those around her, and she was aware of it. Both of those were true.

Hiccup silently watched her out of the corner of his eye and pondered whether or not he would be able to best her in a fight. She may have been a prodigy, but Hiccup was no slouch. Five years had passed since he killed The Shadow, and five years had passed since he had begun smithing. His physique never seemed to bulk, unlike most (or all) vikings on Berk, but years of smithing had given him muscles like steel cords and stamina like a wild horse. And with the unique training he had practiced…

Hiccup was woken from his thoughts by an acute pain at the top of his head. He raised his eyes, and met the scowling face of Gobber the Belch. “Ye’d better be paying attention boy, or I’ll tie yer sorry mug up and throw you to the dragons!” growled the one-legged veteran. Snotlout and the twins tittered and jeered at Hiccup, massaging his head where Gobber’s hook had tapped him.

“Now! Prepare yourselves, ye squats!” Gobber’s normally grouchy face was replaced by a smile of glee and trickery―a face often seen on the twins. His hand rose, and laid itself like a butterfly on the handle to the gronkle cage.

“Whoa, hang on! Aren’t you going to teach us first?” Snotlout burst out, his panic apparent for all to see. His father had no doubt attempted to hammer strategy and technique into his son, but Snotlout was more likely to become the chief than to pay attention to an attempt at teaching him unless his life was at risk. Ironically, Hiccup thought, that’s exactly what is about to happen.

“I believe in learning on the job.” 

Gobber smirked a lopsided smirk and pulled the lever. Before the enraged gronkle had even left its cell, two of the teens had set off running. The first was Astrid, quickly moving away from the immediate danger zone in front of the gronkle’s cage. The second was Hiccup―immediately running to get a shield, then hiding against the slick stone wall with the shield in front of him. From behind his protection, he felt a thump reverberate through the wall, then heard a loud crunching sound. He peeked out from behind the shield, and observed the gronkle facing away from the vikings and gulping down a pile of rocks as if it hadn’t eaten in a year.

Hiccup scowled at the thought, since it likely had some truth to it. These dragons were fed, but rarely, and never enough. Weakened dragons were a much better fit for those still in training. Gobber yelled at the scattered recruits.

“Today’s lesson is about survival! What’s the first thing you’re going to need?” he hollered, followed by a more pointed: “Hiccup, get out from there and fight!”

“More weapons?”

“A doctor?” 

“Heh, it’s a trick question―Gobber knows I’m all we need.”

“A Shield!” burst out Astrid. With Gobber’s grunt of approval, the teens swarmed to retrieve shields from where they laid against the wall. In the clamor, the gronkle swallowed its last stone and turned towards the group.

Gobber and Hiccup, as the only two watching the teens gearing up from farther away, watched in horror as the gronkle’s eyes narrowed into slits, picking through the group to find its victim. Its wings began to flutter, and it crept forward. Astrid turned around to confront the beast, but stumbled backwards in surprise when she came face-to-face with a ravenous dragon.

Gobber was stumping towards them, but the distance between him and the group was too far for a crippled smith. Hiccup moved before he knew it, and suddenly the shield was no longer protecting him from the wide arena’s air. 

Astrid watched the giant maw of teeth and saliva widen in front of her. One hand lifted the shield in front of her, while the other hand reached for her axe. In the commotion, when the other teens had ran around the gronkle, one of them had kicked her axe away. She heard a wet inhale, and peeking over her shield, she watched lava brimming in the creature’s mouth. She braced herself.

Out of the corner of her eye, however, she saw something so strange, she thought she was imagining it―Hiccup, the useless failure of a viking, running forwards to intercept the dragon. In a fluid motion, he swept the shield off his arm and flung it at the gronkle―like a storybook hero rushing in to save a princess.

The illusion of a hero lasted for a few seconds, then died as the shield hit the gronkle. It spat the magma out, barely missing Astrid, then turned towards Hiccup with its teeth bared and violence in its snarl. It lunged, and her so-called hero turned tail and ran.

She watched, incredulous, as he attempted to escape the now-angered beast. She watched as the twins tripped over each other, only to be hit by a stray fireball that had singed Hiccup’s hair. She watched as Fishlegs was struck down by a blast of fire, Hiccup still simply running from the dragon. As the gronkle set down, preparing to loose another attack, she saw Snotlout make an rude gesture towards Hiccup, then make an angry comment towards him. Gobber seemed oblivious to it, dragging the unconscious young vikings out of harm’s way.

Snotlout noticed Gobber’s distraction, and smiled deviously. Roughly grabbing Hiccup around the wrist and by the shoulder, he pulled Hiccup in front of him. Handling him like a sack of the coarse oats they ate on this island, Snotlout stood firm as the gronkle opened its huge mouth and lunged. Hiccup looked on and froze in horror as a gaping jaw barreled towards his face, but his mind was racing.

“If I reveal my skills now, all my work will have been for nothing! What should I do?” Hiccup had many options, but none would really release him, only complicate his life later on. The daggers he had hidden in his clothes would raise suspicion, the techniques he had practiced would raise eyebrows, and if he did nothing, his dragon-scale clothing would protect him to a certain extent―and no doubt expose him.

Behind him, a quiet chuckle not meant to be heard escaped Snotlout’s mouth. “This’ll teach you to act like a chief.” 

Hiccup saw red, like blood welling up in his eyes. Without a thought, he twisted himself like a snake and swung his elbow into Snotlout’s belly. Then he turned, reaching into his bearskin vest for his dagger while bracing himself for the gronkle’s teeth to rip into him, the fire to eat away his flesh.

But they never came.

Astrid stood, her back to him as she stared down the dragon. From what Hiccup could tell, she had hit it hard enough that the gronkle had missed the two grappling viking trainees, and was now facing off against it. It pawed the ground angrily in hunger and irritation. With a throaty roar, it lunged, and a stream of magma poured out of its gullet. Neither Hiccup nor Astrid had a way to stop it―shieldless, weaponless, they waited unflinchingly.

A blur struck the dragon mid-leap, and grappled it into the ground with a sure hand. Hiccup looked to the side, and realized Gobber was no longer caring for the unconscious teens, although he had been merely a few seconds ago. Hiccup grudgingly acknowledged that he had greatly underestimated the old smith. 

“You two! Help me drag this great lug back into his cage!”

Hiccup stepped forwards to assist, but was intercepted by Astrid. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him―she was strong enough that Hiccup felt the need to lift himself onto his toes to prevent his shirt from ripping.

“I saved you because I don’t want to owe you anything, Hiccup Haddock! But don’t think for a moment that what you did was worth praise!” She stared into his eyes, and he could visibly see the rage rolling off of her like steam.

“Wh-what’s the problem?” Hiccup couldn’t help but stutter, although he wasn’t sure if it was from breathlessness, intimidation, or nervousness from his close proximity to the most attractive viking teen in the village. All were perfectly reasonable, and just as likely as the next.

“You threw your shield! You ran like a coward and a fool! Are you really trying to become a viking?” breathing heavily, she let go of him and stepped closer, so only he could hear what she said. “I loathe you. Either come and fight seriously, or leave.” 

Stepping around him, she walked towards the exit. Hiccup opened his mouth to retort...but slowly closed it, letting his response die in his throat. He didn’t want to say too much and risk revealing his secrets, so he said nothing―and looked like a coward.

“Hiccup! Get over here!”

He turned, and spent the next few minutes helping Gobber slide, roll, and drag the gronkle into its cage. It was undoubtedly multiple thousand pounds, but on the slick ground of the kill ring, it was able to be moved without much difficulty.

Hiccup turned away as Gobber closed the gate, and began walking away. He needed to speak with Trader Johann before he left―there was a specific item that he needed, and the trader had promised a quick delivery. According to Stoick, Johann had arrived the day before.

“Wait, Gobber! That little runt tried to kill me!” Snotlout had finally stood up, after reclaiming the air that had been forced out of his lungs by Hiccup’s elbow. “While you weren’t looking, he tried to sneak up on me and get me killed by the dragon! I would be dead if it weren’t for the brave effort of the lovely Astrid Hofferson. Hiccup should be put to death!” Snotlout’s scheming and devilry seemed to know no bounds, and his entitlement from being the scion of the largest clan on the island had clearly gone to his head. Hiccup sent a scathing look at Snotlout, then began his rebuttal, but was cut off before he spoke.

“Don’t ye’ try that on me, Snotlout. I may have missed the fight, but my ears still work. Ye’ do this sort of scummery too often, and it makes ye’ untrustworthy.

Snotlout’s face paled, and he took a breath as if he were preparing to rant for the entire island to hear―but Gobber not cut him off. “Well then, if ye’ are going te insist, how about we call back the lass? She could give a third opinion, eh? Snotlout’s face paled even more, until it was a sickly white. He mumbled something unintelligible, then shuffled through the gate. The recently awoken teens followed him. Gobber and Hiccup left the arena as well, at a slower pace, both laughing silently with one another.

After leaving the arena, Hiccup rushed off to the docks like a child prepared to receive a gift. Nearly skipping, he ran down the wooden ramps leading to the boats―all the while looking for the thin, sleek body of Johann’s boat, a characteristic that made him a speedy, reliable merchant. Hiccup reached the water, and hurried over to meet the merchant.

“Hey Johann. How was the sailing?” Hiccup greeted him casually, as a friend would. The two of them had found camaraderie in each other two years ago; for Hiccup, it was finding someone who didn’t judge him at face value, for Johann, it was finding someone with money to spend.

“Ah, hello Master Hiccup!” spoke Johann with a breathy drawl “The seas have been quite lenient as of recently. Quite calm. Have you come to buy anything today? I received some excellent ink from the south, it was a lovely area. Also, I traded for a colorful blanket in―” Hiccup cut him off. 

“Johann, you know I’m not interested in either of those. Do you have the things that I asked you to find?”

Johann turned, and looked around shiftily. There were vikings boarding and unloading barrels of fish, nets, and other equipment, but no one near enough to hear their conversation. “I do indeed, Master Hiccup. It has been a long and difficult search, but I believe I have found exactly what you need.” Johann lifted the lid of a heavy-looking box, and Hiccup peered inside. “With what you specified, these should be the correct size, although from what I was told, they are rather brittle. The man I purchased them from called them coil springs.”

Hiccup looked them over, then looked to Johann. “This is exactly what I needed, Johann. This’ll be helpful.” Hiccup pulled a small bag out of his vest, and offered it to the trader. “Here’s payment―I’ll need you to deliver it to the usual place.”

Johann took it, weighing the bag in his hand. He nodded, then pocketed the small bag. “I’m planning on leaving early tomorrow, so I can promise delivery by mid-day, Master Hiccup.”

Hiccup stayed a short while longer making small conversation and browsing through the wanderer’s collection. While Johann was a trader on the surface, his skills and experience made him an excellent information broker, as well as a safe way to acquire questionable or rare items. Hiccup always found himself lost in the neat, orderly piles of fascinating items that Berk had little to no knowledge of. Eventually, he left.

As Hiccup returned from the docks, he walked through the village bearing the weight of many viking’s stares. Some in pity, some in disapproval, some simply out of curiosity. Hiccup watched these people, and remembered them. He could tell which families thought less of him―the women who turned their backs to him, the men whose eyes lingered and whose eyes narrowed, even the children who huddled together playing with their crudely hewn toys, reflecting the obvious distaste their parents must have shown. Hiccup saw all of this, and remembered.

After a leisurely walk to the cove, all of the stress from the day seemed to melt away, leaving a pure, new man. Hiccup walked to his forge, took a straight metal rod with notches at set intervals, and began to measure empty spaces in his unfinished mechanism. A minute passed, then ten passed. Methodically measuring, then jotting down his calculations. Over and over and over again.

Finally he stood, and heated the forge. His face unreadable, he mumbled “the coils will work perfectly. It’s finally time to put it all together.” The forge glowed, and Hiccup donned a heat-resistant outfit―one of three, but only two were for his smithing. He had not yet found a time to wear the third.

Although it may have seemed dramatic to an outsider, Hiccup’s quiet declaration meant very little. Over the past few months, he had built the majority of the machine, and very little was left to assemble. He worked, smelting and hammering. Soon, the sharp tines that he had finished the night before were molded to two crescent-moon strips of metal. With difficulty, he dragged the large base and the two tine-encrusted arms into the open. Hitching the arms to the base, only the coil’s vacant space remained unfinished. 

Hiccup looked the metal monster over one last time. It had been three full seasons since he had been inspired, two seasons since he had perfected the design, and now―finally―it was on the brink of completion. Hiccup had given it the name “Clamp” because of how it would look in action, although a more accurate name would be ”Biter”, or even “Gronklejaw”, but of the many things that Hiccup was, a namer was not one of them. Finishing his inspection, Hiccup stepped back and admired his handiwork. The slowly setting sun shone off his masterpiece, reminding Hiccup not to stay―lest he risk another scene like the previous night’s.

He returned to the cave one last time to put things in order, and to cool the forge. By the time he was leaving, it was nearing dusk―a golden sunset was disappearing into the Berk’s thick forestry. Hiccup walked slowly, pondering the happenings of the day and sifting through his interactions with people. Who had accepted him―or who had snubbed him.

Hiccup took out a small journal―the same one that had accompanied him the night he encountered the Shadow. He flipped through it, although stopping to chuckle at the messy eleven-year-old’s scrawl of “My Revenge Plan” that he had written so long ago. Hiccup was no longer a child―revenge was a childish notion.

Justice, however, was not.

Hiccup never wanted to destroy the island, or exterminate his entire clan, or even hurt anyone; he only wanted to be treated with the same standards as his peers, or to be given leave to create to his mind’s desire. But instead, he was pushed aside, trampled upon, and disrespected. Hiccup had eventually come to live by two rules: the first was “The strong prey on the weak”. Due to Hiccup’s spindly frame, he had used his mind to his advantage, and against most opponents, would be the strong.

The second rule was “An eye for an eye”.

He planned to overtake his father and beat down the island’s dissenters. Nevertheless, there were still those who treated him with respect or kindness. The ones who had no fault with him were safe from his inevitable attack. Gobber was one of these few individuals; he had been a friend and mentor to Hiccup since before he could remember. Astrid was another; never reveling in the jeering and taunting that the other teens seemed to love.

“Although,” Hiccup mused “after today that may have changed.”

He jotted down a few words next to Snotlout’s name, then some underneath Astrid’s. He closed the journal and slipped it into a secret pouch built into his vest. Stepping out from the forest, his house came into view. Hiccup patted himself down, brushing off stray leaves and twigs that had found their way onto his body. Clean of foliage, he walked to his house and quietly opened the door.

The scene he entered to was not one he had been expecting. At their table, Stoick was making light conversation with two adults from the Hofferson family―Hiccup recognized them as Astrid’s parents. Sitting near the edge, farthest from the hearthfire, was Astrid herself. She looked sullen and uncomfortable, as if she had been forced to attend this friendly meeting. Hiccup looked at the small group in confusion, and their eyes turned to stare back.

Stoick stood, his expression unreadable. “Hiccup. Come outside with me for a moment. I want to speak with you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is at this point I let the readers know that the mechanics in this story will be a century or two ahead of his time at most, and likely wildly inaccurate. Hopefully that won't kill your mood too much.


	5. New Companions in Old Places

Hiccup stood, petrified at the thought of what his father had in store for him. Why was the Hofferson family here? Did Astrid hate him enough to bring it straight to his father? Stoick stopped just outside the door, leaning his head inside to raise an eyebrow at his son.

“What are you waiting for? Follow me.” Hiccup moved, his eyes still searching the Hofferson’s , searching― _ begging _ ―for an answer, a clue to explain this unexpected occurrence. Astrid’s mother looked pleased, and her father was speaking quietly to his wife, seemingly upset about something. Astrid wouldn’t meet Hiccup’s eyes, and scowled at the floor as if she wanted to plant her axe in it. Hiccup turned and walked out the door, his body filled to the brink with both tenseness and numbness.

Gently closing the door, Hiccup took a deep breath and turned to face his father. In the quickly fading light, Stoick’s face was unreadable and overshadowed, with only his eyes peering out from the darkness. Hiccup’s unease was only aggravated as he looked upon his father’s massive frame, with the two emerald-colored eyes staring him down. No matter how many times he faced the chief, he always seemed to forget the reason for his nickname―Stoick the Vast: the vastness of his feats, the vastness of his strength, and the vast charisma that seemed to hang around him, weighting the air and slowing breath. Stoick crossed his arms, and Hiccup stood before him, waiting.

“Well?”

That one word held a dangerous weight to it―like a death sentence. As Hiccup stammered out an answer, however, he couldn’t help but hope that he had heard something else, behind an angry growl.

“I-Is this about...the dragon t-training?”

“Of  **course** it is.”

“Oh gods…” Hiccup’s stress had hit new highs, and sweat was flowing from every pore in his body. His breath came in short, frantic bursts. “I-I didn’t mean to, dad. I’ll learn how to fight better, or―or I’ll―”

“You clueless child.” Hiccup was cut short as Stoick stepped forward and bent over towards his son. Hiccup’s eyes nearly closed on instinct, but he stopped himself from flinching. True vikings would take pain―then spit it back out. His father had never laid a hand on him, but Hiccup still found himself expecting a strike.

Instead, he felt himself wrapped in a warm embrace. Hiccup, in his confusion, neither accepted nor denied it, and instead stood still as a stone. His father was a full foot taller than him, and in his arms Hiccup looked even smaller than he really was, but it was filled with care and relief. Hiccup realized that he couldn’t remember the last time his father had done anything like this, instead of shouting, or disappointed stares.

“I was able to watch your first training session―for a while, at least. I heard the rest of it from Gobber. I’m so proud, son” Stoick gave Hiccup one last squeeze, then stepped away, reverting to the massive shadowy figure that he had previously appeared as. “Not only did you protect Astrid, but according to Gobber, you even began to fight back when Snotlout tried to pin his own injury on you!” A smile cracked through Stoick’s beard and filled Hiccup with a wave of relief. A knot of sour fear that had formed in his stomach unraveled, and his shivering diminished―not gone, but now barely in existence.

“You’re finally showing me that you have it in you to be chief! Hiccup, this is a momentous occasion.” Stoick’s obvious joy was beaming onto the small, cold man that was his son. Hiccup’s silence persisted, and Stoick’s smile faded. “Son. We may not be as close as some families, but know that everything I did was to protect you.”

“Oh  _ really _ ?” Hiccup had finally found his voice, and with an incredulous quiver, he began to speak. “All those times I tried to help you, or do something for you, or  _ anything _ ―you scowled and pushed me away. Was that to protect me? Was that to keep me safe? Was it?” Hiccup found himself spilling years worth of agonizing pain that he had kept bottled up. Every wayward glare or angry word that had been directed at him that had kept inside like pandora’s box―the dam was breaking.

Stoick listened, and bore his son’s ranting. He knew that he had been keeping Hiccup from hurting himself, but not that he had been hurting his son in the process. As chief, he had expectations to uphold, and jobs to fulfill. He had never imagined that Hiccup would be put under the same scrutiny. Stoick’s face fell, and his heart dropped, but nevertheless, he kept his head high and his stance unwavering.

“Hiccup” Stoick cut off his son’s angry rant. “I understand your anger, and I cannot tell you to change your mind. But once you are older―once you become chief after myself―you will understand. The chief must be strong, like the cornerstone before any building. Even if dragons burn Berk to the ground, the cornerstones will stay; and just like them, Hiccup, you must be able to hold up this clan once you are ready. Weakness will result in crookedness, which will erode a man until he is empty.” Stoick, seeming to notice his rambling, shook his head, and finished his speech. “You are clever, my boy. But cleverness only goes so far. Vikings who last―whose stories are told and whose souls go to Valhalla―these are strong men who spoke their words and fought for them with their own two hands.”

Hiccup stayed silent, staring at his father until he was sure he could talk. “Does that mean you still won’t approve of my...ideas, I suppose?”

An exasperated sigh ruffled Stoick’s chiefly beard, and the last remnants of his good mood seemed to fade away with the mention of his son’s delusions. “Hiccup―for the last time, I will not allow that. The reason is the same―the men who fight with their two hands and bloody themselves for what they believe are the strong. Those who stay inside tinkering and inventing may be needed by some, but they are not vikings. Your destiny is as a viking.” 

Stoick took a deep breath, then fidgeted with his beard for a moment. Assuming that Hiccup’s silence dictated the end of the conversation, Stoick attempted one last time to justify his actions. “Hiccup, whether or not you believe it, I love you. Ever since Valka―well, was...taken…” Stoick’s voice cut out for a moment, then returned. “Ever since then, I’ve built my life on protecting this village, and everyone inside it. You are not, and never have been, an exception. Someday, you’ll understand.”

Stoick gave Hiccup an encouraging pat on the shoulder, passing by him to reach the door. Inaudibly, Hiccup mumbled to his father― “ _ Maybe you think you love me, but is it me? Or is it the perfect viking you imagine? _ ” Stoick reached the door and turned back. “Follow me, Hiccup. This was a perfect time for you to begin acting chiefly, honestly. Something else related has been on my mind recently.”

Hiccup didn’t move a muscle. A small conversation like this could never melt his long-frozen heart, but nevertheless, it twinged uncomfortably. For the first time in years, Hiccup felt something akin to gratefulness towards his father. But that didn’t mean all of his wrongs had been righted. Against his will, Hiccup’s face cracked a miniscule smile―and long-forgotten darkness in a shadowy, unknown corner of his mind shivered at the touch of the warm emotion.

“Crookedness will erode a man until he is empty, huh? Sorry dad, it’s been a while since I had anything inside me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a cornerstone. Even cornerstones wear down to dust―just like the ashen bones of fallen civilizations” thought Hiccup. He turned, and walked behind his father in through their door.

“So what exactly is going on?” Hiccup confusedly asked the room, not to anyone in particular, just probing for an answer. The Hoffersons seemed to have resolved the issue they had been discussing previously, although Astrid was still fuming at the edge of the room. They turned towards the chief, as if they were waiting for him to speak first.

Stoick did nothing for a moment―lost in thought or possibly in fatigue, until Mr. Hofferson cleared his throat with a wet cough. The table shuddered as the chief jerked out of his trance, blinking and looking around. 

“Ah, yes, well...what was the question?” Hiccup sighed, and repeated himself, this time directly to his father. Now understanding the problem, Stoick’s eyes widened. “Ah, of course! I’ve forgotten to explain this to you―the most important person!”

Stoick stood, and paced the room. Hiccup thought that he had asked the question wrong, or perhaps upset him, but the broad-shouldered man stooped and stood, facing the Hofferson family―and his son. “Well, Hiccup, I have been discussing the possibility with the Hofferson’s for quite some time, but for the first time, we spoke in-depth and honestly about this subject. Thus, I have formally extended my hand to put forth an arranged marriage between yourself and Astrid."

Hiccup took a moment to process the words. Then shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“Well, don’t think too deeply into it, since I rejected it immediately” Astrid cut into the conversation with an angry growl. Hiccup looked over at her, and for the first time since the arena, she met his eyes. They were filled with hate, embarrassment, and something else Hiccup couldn’t find a word for.

Perhaps it was disgust.

“You thought you could just get your hands all over me if you had your father ask? What a coward. You should―”

“Astrid, please.” Stoick cut in before she could hurl more insults. “I chose to bring this up myself. Instead of being insulted, please change your perspective and find it as a testament to your worth. Not only are you beautiful enough to be chased by a great number of men on the island, but your fighting skills are top-notch, even compared to most of the elites in this village.

“Never! Not even you, Chief Stoick, can change my mind! There are plenty of other skilled women his age in other clans, on different islands. Why must it be me?”

Stoick shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes flitted around the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Well…” his visible discomfort began to infect Hiccup as well―what was it that he couldn’t say? “Well...although he never asked, or mentioned it to me in any way...I felt it was appropriate to, ah, consider his feelings.”

Astrid listened, then took a moment to process the words. Her eyebrows wrinkled her forehead in anger, and Hiccup noticed this―thus resulting in him being the only one braced for such an outburst.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” 

Legend has it that, miles away, across land and sea, vikings everywhere felt a dangerous chill run down their spines. Realistically, however, no human could yell loud enough, or generate enough murderous intent for that.

But it seemed that way for the individuals inside the chief’s home.

Astrid spewed out word after word, insulting Hiccup and his cowardice and his stature and everything she could think to fit her words around, as the adults attempted to calm her rage-induced frenzy. Meanwhile, Hiccup sat patiently, laughing internally at the cruel irony that his father had just revealed to him. Have a crush on Astrid? Stoick clearly hadn’t been paying attention to his son for years. Four, maybe five years prior he had certainly found the island’s warrior princess alluring, but after years of barely caring about anyone on the island, his feelings had dwindled to a feeble affection, then had been peeled away to reveal only respect―and even that had begun to die.

Astrid, now calmed to the point of reasoning, was quiet and sitting on the stool she had claimed as her own. Stoick found this an excellent point to retake the conversation. “Well, I’m not going to attempt to force you, young Astrid. Thor knows how badly that would end…” Stoick rubbed his head in agitation. “However, I am not prepared to give up yet. I brought you here for two reasons, and the second is a job opportunity.”

Astrid stayed silent, but raised her eyebrows in interest.

Stoick, seeing he had interested her, continued. “It is no secret that most vikings are leaving tonight, on one last hunt for the nest. After seeing Hiccup’s performance today, I saw that he had ability, but it is raw, untrained. Would you be willing to train with him during the weeks that we are gone?”

Astrid’s face fell, and she made her disinterest clear: “Sir, why wouldn’t you have Gobber, or another skilled viking train him? Why would I be your first choice?

“Well, you weren’t my first choice, Astrid. Plenty of more experienced, or  _ gods know _ more willing vikings would be preferable. However, all of them are coming on the hunt. Gobber is staying behind, but he is not only the island smith and your teacher, but I will be appointing him half-chief while I am away. He will clearly be bogged down by his own agenda.” Stoick stopped, and crossed his arms. “I’ll be able to find someone else if you refuse, Astrid. But I would take this as a great personal favor―and of course you would be compensated.”

Astrid looked tense. On the outside, there was no pressure―but it was no secret that the Hofferson clan had sustained heavy losses of livestock and farmland in the last dragon raid. According to what Stoick had said, he had been considering this interaction for quite a while, but it still struck a sour note, seemingly preying on their temporary weakness. There was rarely bad blood between the clans on the island, but like business partners or rivals, there was always competition.

And currently, the Hofferson clan was receiving the short end of the stick with most dealings.

This interaction was fair―in fact, advantageous for both the Haddock clan, and the Hofferson clan. Only Astrid had to bear discomfort, and she knew this. “Gah...fine.” She began to speak between Stoick and her parents to find a reasonable price for both of them, but Stoick cut her off.

“Actually, I had an idea of my own.” An outsider may have seen Stoick’s smile through his beard kind, or friendly. Hiccup saw his negotiating grin that came before a sly deal, like a snowflake swinging widely in the air before an avalanche. “Astrid, you could stay here in the chief’s hut. I never had the heart to remove Valka’s bed…but I’d allow you to sleep there. I’ll still pay your family just as well, but I’d like you to stay here and oversee Hiccup’s training.”

Astrid stopped. Her mind was visibly working, trying to decide if it was worth it. Everyone in the room watched her, and her parents decided to intervene. “Stoick, is this really necessary? I don’t think she needs to live here for the time, eh? That seems like an overreaction.” Her father cut in, and addressed the chief, but Astrid had already decided.

“It’s alright, dad. I’ll do it.” Her father began to disagree, but her mind had clearly been set. Her father glared at her, and she glared back. Astrid’s father backed off after a few moments, exhaling and leaning back. “Well, that’s what she decides, Stoick. Hopefully I can trust  _ you _ ” Mr. Hofferson pointed straight at Hiccup’s eyes, “to keep your hands off my daughter.”

“Of course, sir.”

Hiccup began to pay attention to other things, like the grain of the wood in the table, and the snapping of logs in the hearthfire, as their remaining time together ran to a close. Stoick and the Hoffersons spoke more on what would be expected, and how she would train him. Hiccup listened, but felt his eyelids growing heavy, and wished for the welcomed intruders to leave. 

The night was growing dimmer, and while in a conversation, Stoick stood up abruptly. “AH! We have to leave―we had planned to get an earlier leave for the hunt! Erick, let’s get moving.”

Astrid’s father jumped up as well. The two of them hurriedly grabbed some traveling food, and bustled out the door. Soon, Hiccup was left with only the two women and an uncomfortable silence covering all their mouths.

“Um...Astrid, you really don’t have to stay. I think my dad was joking…”

She looked relieved, but her mother intercepted Hiccup’s attempt at escape. “Not a chance, young lady. You promised the chief you would stay―you’re going to keep your promise. You can sleep at home tonight, but by tomorrow night, move enough things up to here.” With a steel-like resolve, her mother got Hiccup to show them through their entire house―although it was the chief’s house, it was surprisingly small―then left with Astrid, her hand ensnared around her daughter’s bicep. As they left and Hiccup was closing the door, he heard Mrs. Hofferson hissing at her daughter: “Why would you turn down a marriage to the island’s heir? You make no sense sometimes―why, I swear…”

Hiccup smiled wistfully and shut the door. He felt a dull ache on his chin and in his heart as he thought about his own mother. Wasting very little time, he sent himself to bed. Life was always easier when Stoick was out on a hunt, or a peace treaty, or a friendly meeting. Sometimes up to a month of unadulterated time alone was Hiccup’s. As he drifted off, he realized that Astrid was a stone in his path to his time―had Stoick done that on purpose?

Hiccup slept heavily, unknowing of the great storm―literally and figuratively―that would soon encroach upon his calm lifestyle.

The morning sun shone through the foggy Berk morning, the fog shining with a golden blessing from the blazing sunrise. Hiccup woke with the sun, and began his morning. Walking through the town, he spoke lightly with the few good acquaintances he had on the island. At that point, the majority of the population was the women who had not participated in the hunt. While wandering, Hiccup found himself picking up bits of gossip that were flying around. While unproductive, it made for an amusing hobby.

Reaching the docks, Hiccup walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. There was an obvious lack of boats―most being taken by the men in their search, only leaving two elderly fishing tubs, and trader Johann’s sleek ship. Johann had clearly been planning to leave, but seemed to be locked in a negotiation with an irritating rash. Snotlout, of course.

Hiccup walked through the town, avoiding the public eye and relaxing his tense body as the golden sun rose over the island. Eventually, he found himself in front of the smithy, staring into its dusty wasteland. Nearly half of the best weapons had been taken on the hunt, and most of the short-term fixing material had been salvaged for the cause as well. 

Hiccup walked in and felt a gritty breeze brush through his body, moving the dust and scraps on the tables and floor. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose―smelling the familiar grime and soot of the forge. He felt more at home here than anywhere in the town, and although Gobber seemed to be away (likely dealing with his new responsibilities as temporary chief), Hiccup felt his body relaxing with a sweet-tasting relief.

“Oi, what’re ye doing in here, ya little bugger? Lost yer way now that yer daddy isn’t here to tell you where to go?” Hiccup grinned―speak of the devil.

“Oh, shuddup Gobber, you know I just love to work. Why isn’t the esteemed pseudo-chief out doing his daily chieftaning?” Hiccup neither turned around nor opened his eyes, but quipped back all the same. 

“Chieftaning? Is that even a word?” Gobber chuckled and elbowed his apprentice as he passed into the smithy. 

“Maybe. Ever try reading a book, old man? It might benefit you.” Hiccup threw a light punch at his teacher, and walked farther into the large, segmented room. He sat down, and tried to balance a dull knife on his finger. It fell off, to neither of their surprise.

Gobber waved his hook at a dangerously close distance to Hiccup’s face, and grumped; “Ever been the only viking to be banned from reading the dragon manual? I barely ripped a page, but Gothi and Stoick nearly ripped my last two limbs off!” Hiccup’s face contorted, trying to bring a new retort to mind, but he drew a blank. Gobber saw Hiccup’s face, and chuckled. “It’s all right lad, they took back the banning a few years back.” Gobber turned to the forge and began to clean the previous day’s mess, but Hiccup still heard a choice suggestion where Gothi and Stoick could stick “their precious book”.

“Anything for me to do today Gobber? Looks like most of the weapons are on a trip with the rest of the island.” Hiccup sat patiently, and raised his eyebrow at the old viking cleaning scraps.

“Eh, you’re right about that. I’ll be wandering about―yer father gave me a list and I need to figure out his damn chicken-scratch.” Gobber paused, considering something. “I’d never let ye touch a hammer if he was here...but since yer father is gone, I’ll let you have free reign while I’m out and about. How about that?”

Hiccup’s jaw dropped. “Seriously Gobber? That’d be amazing!” He jumped up and hugged the portly man, only to be poked by the horns on his helmet. He backed away―still smiling widely.

“Ah shaddup, ye little twerp. I’m on your side, ye know? I told yer father that ye still had some small sketches of yer ideas, but I’ve never told him what they were, or anything like that. Go wild―ah, well don’t go wild enough to attract attention, eh? I’m not in a hurry to be murdered by that old bear.” Gobber finished his cleaning, now with Hiccup’s enthusiastic help, and left after a few more minutes of check-ups.

Hiccup began his work. The forge was smoother-working, bigger, and built better than his small cave-workshop. The anvils were slicker, the room more spacious, and he had all the equipment he needed. It was truly blissful for him. 

He took the scrap metal that Gobber had collected, and heated it. The metal fused, and the sheen of silver melted off of it. A molten mass reflected a warped metal-mask used often for heavy forging, and Hiccup found himself longing for the light, strong, and versatile dragon-skin mask at his cave―but dragon scales were prioritized for armor here, and none went to the smithy. Nevertheless, Hiccup lost himself in his work. He let his mind wander, and decided off the top of his head to make himself a new set of knives. 

The first knife was long and thin. Brittle like an icicle, but sharper than a razor’s edge. It had a thin, short hilt, its handle was long, and it was form-fitted for his hand. Hiccup swung the blade widely, stopping bare inches from the walls, forge, and windows. He smiled, then slid it into a pre-made pocket in his vest. 

The second was shorter, and very heavy. More of a club with a sharp edge, this knife was made with strength in mind. Serrated fangs stuck out of the back in a jagged, fearsome grin. The handle was curved, and the definition of the blade shone like a star’s heart. With a grunt, Hiccup hung the deceptively heavy dagger from his waist.

The third was―no other word for it―beautiful. Made with all the scrapped silvery metal, the blade imitated the crescent moon’s gentle caress. It was curved, but not twisted. The handle and the hilt were entwined with small, silvery rods, and captured the sun’s light in a hundred different places. Engraved on the side of the blade, many small miracles of nature had been created. Hiccup lifted a small hammer, to finish the last piece, but was interrupted by an unwelcome voice.

“There you are. Why in Freya’s name have you been here all morning?” Astrid was here―although by the sound of her voice, she had been coerced by her mother in one way or another.

Hiccup put down the knife, as well as his raised hand holding the hammer. “Gobber gave me permission, Astrid. You don’t need to be here.” He said sternly, without turning around.

“Like hell I don’t.” She walked up to his back, and roughly grabbed his shoulder. “Gobber’s next dragon training session isn’t for another few days. That means I have to train you. I promised your father, and there’s no way I’ll back down now, no matter how worthless you are.”

Hiccup sighed, and slipped the artistic blade into his vest. Listening numbly to Astrid drone about muscles, and exercises, and stamina, and a hundred other things, he followed her to an open, wooded area. Looking around, he could see hundreds of different trees with gashes from an axe. This was clearly her personal, private training space―and Hiccup was surprised. At least she had found it in herself to suck up her pride, and brought him here. Although not by much, his impression of her improved.

Then it fell again.

Astrid clearly meant to tire him out―to push him to his limits and criticize him for them. An hour of stretching and mundane workouts, followed by nearly an hour of running under the hot sun. By this point, Astrid was sweating buckets, but Hiccup was unsure if it was because of the exertion, or the unreal truth that seemed to be coming true for her―Hiccup Haddock III, the worst viking, had a body to rival her well-trained self.

Breathing heavily, she stopped in her tracks; looking around, she found herself in her normal training area once again. Behind her, Hiccup walked up. “Is that it, Astrid? I’m just starting to get tired―are you sure you’re not injured or something?” She gritted her teeth and stood up, only to meet a sly smile on her so-called “student’s” face. Her blood boiled, and she finally snapped.

“What’s your problem? I’m trying to help you, to do what I’m being paid to do, but you’re just spitting all over my good will. Why is that?” She spat at him with an icy cold glare. Hiccup just chuckled and shrugged.

“Maybe I don’t have anything to learn from you?”

Astrid couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She grabbed her axe off of her back, and swung it in a wide ark at Hiccup. With her rigorous training, she knew she could stop its momentum just before it hit him, but she never had the chance. With a quick step and a snap of the wrist, Hiccup was face-to-face with her, and had deftly removed her axe from her possession. 

“Wha―” She yelled in surprise, but was cut off. Another short step forward brought Hiccup barely an inch from her face. Realizing that he was slightly taller than her, she tried to back up; instead, she was pushed lightly on the collarbone. She felt it, and felt a joyous leap inside of her. In her mind, she believed he had truly been wrung to the bone by her exercises.

But down she fell.

Because of the unexpected fall, she hit the ground hard, fully defenseless. Her breath was forced out of her, and before she realized anything had happened, she was sprawled out upon the ground. She laid still for a moment in shock, then shot back up. “How. DARE. you!”

Hiccup sauntered back three steps, tossing her axe in the air. “You just don’t get it, do you Astrid?” he grasped her axe in his right hand, and reached into his vest with his left. “You show off so much, you flaunt your title of ‘best’, but in reality, you’re just above average.” He threw her axe into the ground―the blade stuck into the ground, and the handle stuck into the air. He removed the long, thin dagger from his vest, and unhitched the heavy dagger from his waist. “You’re lucky...I’ve been hiding everything for years, but I’ll make an exception this one time.”

“W-What?...what do you mean, Hiccup?” Her voice was growing weaker by the moment.

He looked around briefly, then with a fluid, practiced movement, Hiccup threw one dagger, then the other. Astrid flinched and covered her face with her arms, a feminine yelp escaping her mouth in fear. But the pain didn’t come. She heard two muffled thumps behind her, and lifted her head to look.

On one tree, a thick, ancient oak, a thin knife had impaled an acorn to its burly trunk. The acorn was perfectly intact, aside from a knife’s wound straight through it. The second, thicker knife had brutally crushed its way into a thin tree, perhaps five inches wide. The knife stuck squarely in a knothole, and had practically cut the small tree in half. Both had been perfectly thrown. 

Hearing footsteps, Astrid swiveled back again and met Hiccup’s eyes. He walked up to her, and took one last knife out. It glittered in the afternoon sun, and Astrid’s eyes widened as they gazed upon it. 

“Take it, Astrid. Show me that you’re better than me, and I’ll let you teach me anything.”

Astrid reached out, wanting― _ yearning _ ―for the beautiful knife. But she couldn’t take it. Instead, she looked at him, and asked the question that had been buzzing in her brain.

“Why are you showing me this? What are you planning to do? I’m just going to tell the island about this, you fool.” Her words were meant to cut, but instead they just stagnated in the cool, breezy air. Hiccup smiled a sly, greasy smile.

“Oh really? I’m sure that everyone will be quite interested in what you have to say―especially if you admit to being bested by the ‘worst’, huh?”

Astrid’s face flushed, and she gritted her teeth in an attempt to keep herself from screaming at him. He passed her by, and retrieved his knives from their respective trees. She heard him grunt in the effort, and wondered just how he had gained such an insurmountable amount of skill. She felt a breath behind her, and turned around to find herself face-to-face with Hiccup again. Wordlessly, he placed the glittering dagger into her hands, then walked off.

Her face contorted, and her fists clenched around the handles of her axe and the newly gifted symbol of shame, the beautiful knife.

Hiccup walked up the mountain. After retrieving the coil springs from his and Johann’s secret trading post at the beach nearest to Raven’s Point, he had to return to his cove. It was a surprisingly difficult walk, after the training that Astrid had put him through. He had nearly found himself slipping up and breathing heavily, or allowing himself a rest. He had persevered, however, since a convincing performance was what it took to get her off his back.

Once he had reached his small haven, only two small things had to be set into motion. The first, most important, was to set the trap. Once the coils were set, and the jaws were opened, he had nothing to do but wait. The waiting would be long and tedious, but he was prepared; secondly, he had to bait the trap―luring a dragon would be difficult, but not impossible.

In the middle of the jaws, he placed fish. Smoked, steamed, and raw, of multiple different kinds. Dragons were ravenous creatures, and would no doubt jump at the opportunity for some easy food.

“Hmm…” Hiccup thought about the dragons, feeling like there was something missing. He had never seen a dragon that had seemed to have the mental fortitude of the Shadow, but he still felt something was off. He shrugged his doubts away, however, and placed the food. Satisfied with a hard day’s work, he allowed himself some time alone, resting.

With the sun shining down on him, Hiccup found his rest particularly uncomfortable. Finally, just as he got himself up, the sun was enshrouded by dark clouds. “Heh. Just my luck.” Hiccup checked the clamp’s machinery once more―not trusting the coils, or the gears, or anything else inside of it. Eventually, he was convinced that it would work just fine, and left for his home.

On the journey, the billowing gray clouds moved over berk. The heavy swarm of darkness encroached further and further on their free skies, and eventually suffocated the calmness of Berk, turning it into a dangerous bottleneck for free winds.

Hiccup exited the forest and walked up the road to his house―but stopped in his tracks quickly. In front of his house, stood Snotlout and Astrid, and a large clock that Hiccup recognized from Trader Johann’s ship. Snotlout had his back to Hiccup, and pleaded with Astrid for something; the wind was too strong, and it pushed the sound away from Hiccup’s prying ears.

Hiccup walked up to them, and they both noticed him at the same time. Astrid’s eyes cast themselves downwards, and Snotlout’s eyes issued a challenge to Hiccup’s. Snotlout turned away from Hiccup and with very little care, said “Well, remember what I said, babe.” Astrid’s face showed a feeling of great disgust, but Snotlout was already walking away―making sure to run his shoulder into Hiccup’s.

“What was that about?”

Astrid glared at him, but answered anyway. “Apparently there’s been gossip that we’re being forced into an arranged marriage. Snotlout came to confess his love for me, and give me an expensive clock he bought just for me, apparently.”

“Huh.” Hiccup remembered hearing something along those lines that morning. Gossip moved fast in small villages like these. “Anyway, why are you here? Leave.”

Astrid’s eyebrows sloped, and opened the door to his house. He began to object, but then saw multiple boxes of clothes and her own equipment. He had forgotten a terrible thing―she was tethered to him and his house while Stoick was gone. His plot to get her off his back had simply brought him closer to suspicion, and closer to being found out. He swore quietly at himself and his idiocy.

The evening passed quickly. A quiet supper, followed by a short time assisting Astrid move her things into his deceased mother’s room. Snotlout’s gifted clock stayed outside of her room―she didn’t want to be reminded of him any more than she already was. Hiccup may have not welcomed her, but it was clear he had no other choice but to allow her to stay. No more than ten words were said between them that dark, overcast evening.

Hiccup slept, only to be awoken by the sound of rain and screams.

He bolted out of bed, and found Astrid already leaving. She turned to look at him for a moment, then left without a word. Hiccup squeezed into some poorly-made armor―not wanting to waste his personally made set―and ventured out into the rain.

When it rains, it pours. This was a phrase created by Berkians, due to their unnatural flood of rain that happens periodically. Not a rainy season, like many lands have, but their island was not only mountainous, but surrounded by strange islands. Many hundreds of miles outwards, islands were rocky and uninhabitable, but Berk seemed to be blessed and cursed. Only vikings could live in such a harsh environment.

As Hiccup walked outside into the hellish downpour, he watched silhouettes of dragons flying across the sky and attacking all who got in their way. Their fire was weak, but their numbers made up for it; the viking women fought back tooth and nail, defending their near-empty village.

Women may have been weak, or expected to be subservient in some cultures, but on Berk, and in most other viking cultures, they were as strong as any man, and fought twice as viciously. Hiccup looked out to the village, and could clearly see the women fighting an impressive fight. He began to wander down to the village, wondering what he should do to help. Most of the livestock had been herded away, and there were very few targets.

A high whistle cut through the air. The music was only interrupted by Gobber’s frantic yell― “Night Fury! GET DOWN!”

Hiccup watched a house collapse in on it’s blue-white fire that had erupted inside of it. The night fury flew through the skies, attempting to locate its next meal, or next victim. It let loose a strange scream, then shot off over the forest, barely visible underneath the clouds.

Hiccup stared as the black shadow flew across the sky. Too vague to see, but just visible enough to notice. He couldn’t help but notice that it seemed to be speeding towards…

Suddenly Hiccup took off running. Throwing off his armor in bits and pieces, he sprinted towards his hiding place, his cove of solitude. He slipped in the mud and nearly fell off the cliff, but barely stopped himself. It had taken longer than he’d wanted to arrive, but it had been worth it. Through the torrent of rain, he saw the night fury in its full glory. Sleek, black, and murderous like a knife, it circled the metal trap Hiccup had laid just hours before. It sniffed the air, and while it seemed to be wary, it didn’t seem to have any fear.

Hiccup’s mind raced, and he realized why it hadn’t fled. “The rain is washing my scent away...It’s completely clueless.” Hiccup watched as it sniffed the cold metal again―but it seemed to find nothing wrong this time. It stood on its back feet, and looked about with cold eyes. Somehow, Hiccup saw life in its eyes. He saw an intelligence to rival the Shadow’s, to rival a human’s. He had finally found another creature that he could understand―could turn into a friend or a companion, perhaps. He finally found one, and it was about to step onto his deathtrap, and he would once again be a murderer.

Hiccup jumped up and yelled. He had meant to warn the night fury, but instead he startled it. It jumped forward and twisted it’s body. As it landed, it launched a blast of acrid blue plasma at the boy, but he wasn’t worried about that. The night fury landed, protecting its meal beneath it.

The trap triggered, and the enormous jaws snapped together with a fatal force.

Hiccup watched the night fury’s reflexes take action, and it moved to avoid the unexpected attack. Its head and limbs had hidden themselves from danger; the tail had not.

Hiccup’s eyes, watching it play out, suddenly scrunched closed. He heard a screech of pain, and through his eyelids he saw a flash of lightning. Thunder roared across the sky, and Hiccup flinched with the overload of noise and light, as if Thor himself had landed on their small island. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself kneeling at the edge of the cliff, his legs nearly submerged in slick mud. He looked out into the cove, and saw a shrieking mass of black death. The night fury shot blast after blast at his precious clamp, until it was nothing other than a twisted mass of metal. 

Hiccup stared at the night fury. Its wings were outstretched, and its mouth was wide―the very picture of fear. Near the mutilated contraption, Hiccup saw a thick, black snake twitching in agitation. Looking closer, he saw the truth, and fit two and two together.

The long black snake was the night fury’s tail, disconnected from its master’s body. Hiccup shuddered as the intelligent beast’s eyes met his, and narrowed into slits.

  
  



	6. A Crushing Breakdown

Hiccup’s throat contracted, and his breath refused to leave his lungs. Staring into the dark beast’s hate-filled eyes, his emotions and surroundings were swept away into a colorless mass. He only felt fear. He only saw the night fury ―and its tail twitching on the ground.

Liquid was flowing everywhere. The skies had split open to throw down torrents of beating rain, punishing Hiccup for his mistake. The rain hit the night fury as well―bringing insult to the pain flowing through its body. Hiccup felt himself crying, but without a reaction or noise, just salty tears flowing from his eyes, merging with the rain hitting his face. His eyes flitted between the two pained, intelligent eyes, and the dark blood flowing from the night fury’s remaining stump of a tail. The rain hit at him like hammers, and they were a cold that seeped into his muscles and immobilized him. He was stuck, staring at the creature that he had crippled.

Hiccup stared into its eyes and hoped his death would be painless. He smelled the burning metal of his broken clamp even from where he was. It was warped and hurt. Hiccup’s blood ran cold while the dragon’s blood ran red, and Hiccup felt fear and remorse. The dragon’s eyes flickered, staring at Hiccup. The pupils contracted, then shrunk into slits, then shifted again, fluctuating as if it wasn’t in control of itself. It shook its head and stumbled a bit, off balance without its tail.

Hiccup watched in amazement, then realized what position he kneeled in. The rain matted his hair down into a curtain, but even with his hair obscuring his vision he realized the dragon’s confusion. He was unsure what had caused the sudden instability, but he had no plan to stay around and observe. He stood on shaking legs, and with a remorseful look back, ran away.

Ten steps away from the cliff, Hiccup heard a pitiful cry wailing out from the place he had trapped the night fury. He screeched to a halt, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth in helplessness. He felt terrible, knowing that someone―he had begun thinking of the night fury as someone, rather than just something―had been critically injured. He had thought of it as hunting a mindless beast, but now it was painfully real and tugging at Hiccup’s heart.

The trees cracked and swayed in the typhoon, but Hiccup stood fast. His eyes struggled to stay open, and his fatigue beat his consciousness as the rain beat his body from the outside in. He wanted to leave, but hearing the result of what he had done kept him nailed to his spot. He felt like the world was crushing him into the ground, and he couldn’t decide where to move; he stood in the same place, and didn’t move. The rain passed, but he remained.

He felt his eyes flutter, but he was still unsure whether to leave or to stay. His body felt heavy...

Hiccup woke up feeling surprisingly comfortable. He felt the sun upon his cheek, and his breath inflated his body. “Strange,” he thought. “The sun doesn’t shine into my room.” As if he was breaking out of a drugged slumber, his crusted eyes opened. Or, rather, one eye opened. Hiccup saw wet grass and mud. He felt caked into the ground, but still found the strength to lift himself out.

Standing up, he looked into a puddle’s reflection to find himself covered in mud; soaked wherever there was no mud. Looking around, there were broken branches strewn around him, mud and water flowing everywhere, and other indications of a particularly rough patch of weather. Hiccup’s sleeping mind had barely woken, and his confusion was building by every second he was awake. What was he doing out here?

He looked behind him, and seeing the cove, he turned and walked towards it. “Maybe seeing inside the cove will remind me what happened?” he wondered. Beginning to wipe the clods of muddy dirt and leaves that stuck to his body, he walked up the edge of the cliff. He was lucky to have grabbed onto a tree as he approached, for two reasons. The first reason was the slickness of the mud―he almost slipped over the edge and fell into the newly-swollen lake. It had grown nearly twice as large, filling nearly the entire cove’s ground.

The second reason was the reaction he had when the previous night’s memories swarmed back into his mind. 

He first saw the swollen lake, rippling as small streams of water flowed off the cliff and onto its surface. Next he saw his contraption, his pride and joy. It was half-submerged, and warped to the point of unrecognizability. Hiccup felt its pain as his own, and cursed all the wasted hours he had put into that beast of a machine. Finally, he saw a tail. A jet-black, sleek tail without a connection to a body. Finally, he was reminded of the previous night’s terrors, and his failure.

His knees buckled, but his firm grasp on the tree’s trunk prevented him from falling forward into the abyss. Instead, he sunk deeper into the mud, pressed down by the gravity of what he had done.

He perked his head up again. Where was the night fury? It obviously couldn’t have flown away, but could it have climbed out? He looked harder, trying to peer into crevices and rock formations from his point of view. As the sun rose higher, sunlight peered into the cove, and Hiccup saw it.

“Oh damn…” Hiccup’s displeasure slipped through his lips. The night fury had found residence in his personal cave. His forge, his tools, his medicinal books and his research books about dragons or mechanics were all in there. But now he had to slay the dragon to re-obtain his treasure. 

Hiccup sat, and stared at the black sheen of scales on the dragon. He was mesmerized by the light flowing off of it; laying in peaceful rest it was defenseless. Hiccup mirrored it, and allowed himself to relax. The day passed from morning to noon. Finally, the dragon won the war of endurance. Hiccup left, and slowly made his way home, with a heavy heart and a downcast face.

The clouds from the previous night were gone, and Hiccup looked over the village’s busy crowd as he emerged from the woods. After the dragon attack, there were corpses to bury, houses to repair, and livestock to recount. The last night’s attack was rather small, due likely to the typhoon, so the town moved slower than usual. Hiccup went inside.

He opened the door quietly, but then allowed himself to make more noise as he became increasingly sure that Astrid was out in the town, helping repairs and other work. He crashed his body onto a chair, hid his face in his arms, and laid his arms on the table. Look at what he had done!

His breath was erratic, and he heard his blood pumping into his head. For the first time in years, he was completely unsure of what to do. Fixing the tail? Putting the night fury out of its misery? Leave it to die on its own? He felt lost and confused―but most of all, guilty. He opened his eyes to a room spinning in wild, loopy rings. He tried to stand up, but his feet weren’t where he thought they were―and he fell onto the floor with an undignified grunt.

He lifted himself from the floor, and tried to make sense of what was happening. Just the previous night, he had watched a dragon’s tail be ripped off, but now he was trying to figure out what to do? Why would he give up such a prime opportunity to get more scales, more bones, more strength to bring his justice to the people who scorned him? 

But the look in its eyes came back to Hiccup every time―a pure, innocent pain in those two intelligent eyes.

Hiccup closed his eyes, then blinked hard to wave the spots from his eyes. His mind felt fuzzy, and with the realization that he hadn’t eaten anything all day, he wobbled his way to a cabinet. Reaching inside, he found some barrels and bottles, filled with different liquids. His hands stumbled into the different glass and wooden containers, and he retrieved a bottle he knew his father to drink on particularly hard days.

Hiccup was no stranger to alcohol―in fact, no viking children were. Even children were given a weak mead as a rite of passage, pushing them into their viking’s lifestyle. They often choked on it, or wrinkled their faces in disgust, but they drank. In the great hall, parties were thrown and marriages were finalized and all other celebrations took place inside of it. Ale flowed like water and rain, and vikings were truly allowed to let themselves loose from the responsibilities of the day. Hiccup had certainly drank before, but what he did this day was far beyond even the most stout of vikings.

There was no food, no celebration, no happiness involved in this choice of his. Only regret and pain. He guzzled down the bitter liquid and tried to straighten his mind, only to break down further and further. He found himself growing drunker and drunker, falling over himself more and more. He pulled a knife out of his vest and twirled it between his fingers, dangerously close to his face and anything else he could cut. He began whittling into the wood table, the walls, the floor. The same picture, the same vision, the same every time. In a daze, he finally fell to the ground, laying in the only place without marks in the wood.

A cold darkness slithered out of the back of his mind, and poured into the crevices of his brain like a thick molasses. 

He felt his body grow cold, and his limbs grew heavy. He fought back against the feeling, but he couldn’t get himself to move. He felt a slimy, raspy voice in his throat.

“Why are you stopping me?”

Hiccup, having no control over his vocal cords at this point, just spoke back in his mind: “Nobody controls me but myself.” The words would’ve sounded confident if he had spoken them aloud, but in his mind they were small, pitiful.

A rusty chuckle let loose from his own throat, as if the one laughing had forgotten how to laugh years ago, and choked on his own cruel humor. “Oh really? Such a...tenacious boy. I’ll help you learn, teach you what you need to know, hmm? You’ve already taken my knowledge once, you know. Don’t try and deny it.”

Hiccup knew it was true. Ever since that night―after killing the Shadow and feeling this same repulsive feeling, he had stolen a great amount of knowledge. Skill and smarts often took vikings their entire lives to acquire, but Hiccup’s quick maturity and inexplicable skill had been stolen, then hidden in his mind for years. He had supplemented it with research-based or rare books brought to him by Johann, one of the few people he trusted to keep his secrets.

“That’s beside the point. You don’t get to keep my body under control, it’s mine. Let me get up.” Hiccup thought pointedly at his mind.

“Even if I could help you fix that dragon’s tail? Or even kill it without suffering a single scratch? Just say the word and I’ll be right there for you, kid.”

Hiccup would’ve froze, if he had been previously moving. However, due to his near-comatose state on the ground, he simply tensed his relaxed muscles. How did it know what he had been thinking? Had it been observing his movements recently? Maybe even since it had first infected his mind?

“...How do you know about that?” he wondered cautiously, hoping the controller would simply let his answer fly out. Hiccup had noticed his pride, his obvious hubris towards Hiccup, and hoped that he would give the answer freely.

“Hmm...Wouldn’t you like to know?” Hiccup’s face contorted into a crooked smile, and the phantom controller moved his limbs in a jerking, uncoordinated way. Hiccup’s mouth moved slowly, but let one last sentence free. “I’ll just borrow your body for a while―don’t worry, you’ll get it back eventually…”

Hiccup’s body moved to its mind’s commands, and it stood up, slouching in an unnatural position. Hiccup tried frantically to take back control of his body, but to no avail. He felt his consciousness fading away―but with the last few strands of connection, he saw a bright light. The controlling grip that seemed unshakable a second ago disintegrated into dust, and retreated to the back of his mind. Hiccup’s body fell backwards, and his consciousness left him.

* * *

**Previously…**

Astrid rose from her bed to a dark and stormy night―and while that was not an unusual occurrence on Berk, the screams were. She shot out of her bed and within seconds, her battle-ready gear had been donned, her axe was in her hand, and she was sprinting out the door with everything she had. 

She wrenched the front door open, and with a quick glimpse back, she saw Hiccup hurrying down the stairs. She moved, both to avoid any unnecessary time with the boy she hated so much, and to help fight the wave of dragons.

Rushing to town, she saw an uncharacteristic lack of burning homes that generally came with a dragon attack. She concluded that the rain took most of the credit for that, rather than the valiant efforts of Berk’s women. She ran into the middle of town just in time to hear―”NIGHT FURY! GET DOWN!” yelled into the sky, just barely louder than the screeching of the dragon. Blue fire exploded inside a house, and she moved to help quench vestigial burnings of the explosion.

The foul-smelling remains of the night fury’s target smoldered, and while the rain quenched most of the spreading fire, it was part of her job to prevent anything unexpected. 

After a final check, she ran out and found Gobber. He seemed overwhelmed by the barrage of people coming to him for advice, but he stood strong on his one good leg and directed people with a steely determination. Seeing Astrid run up to him, he turned towards her. 

“Go down to the Jorgenson’s area, lass! I haven’t seen half of them, and we need a hell of a lot more vikings to take down this wave!” He waved her in their direction, but she was already shooting down the streets and yelling warnings into their doors and windows. Doors soon swung open, and the Jorgenson women left at the island swarmed out. 

She slammed her fist on one of the last doors, hoping that would be enough to wake up whoever was sleeping inside. To her surprise, Snotlout opened the door, even though this was certainly not his house―not to mention he was near-naked and clearly out of breath from some unnamed physical activity. She snorted, but briefly told him the battle’s urgency. She jogged off unsure if he had even recognized her in the relentless rain. Walking to the next house, she thought about that stupidly large clock he had bought her the previous day―did he do that for all of the girls he attempted to seduce? The thought brought a cruel smile to her face.

She ran back to the middle of town, at the back of the crowd of Jorgensons, but the majority of the work had already been delegated by the time she got to Gobber. The dragons had been driven off quickly, the rain had stifled most fires, and―most puzzling of all―the night fury had only struck once the previous night. It was unusual, but it was a welcome deviation from the usual destruction it caused. Astrid spoke with Gobber briefly, then moved on to help treat the wounded.

Healers were in short supply in any viking community. At the highest point of Berk’s healer list, Gothi the sage was supreme. She could identify every plant on the island, could mix a medicine that (although rancid) would speed up even heavy wounds’ healing, and for some reason only spoke through scratches on the ground. Next on the list, were multiple different men and women from different houses. Every clan had at least one, and Astrid’s father was considered one of the best. Erick Hofferson―a brave fighter, a diligent healer, and a loving father. Although not outstanding in any of his ways, he was known as a touchstone for many hardened vikings. Because of his second-hand teachings, Astrid was surprisingly adept helping wrap wounds or mixing medicine.

Finally, as the sun came up and the rain died out, the majority of the island’s population went back to their beds, taking back an hour or two of the sleep they had lost the previous night. Astrid dragged herself through the doorway and kicked off her shoes. As the mud splattered around, she noted that Hiccup’s shoes were still missing. “He probably went to the forge again” she thought “I’ll grab him and drag him to another exercise session, he’ll regret ever crossing me!” And with that comforting thought, she drifted off.

It was nearing noon. Hiccup was nowhere to be found, and Astrid’s temper was rising as fast as the sun. No one had seen him all day―no one could even remember seeing him during the dragon attack, although she was certain she had seen him leaving soon after herself. He hadn’t been in the smithy all day, although Gobber and the other apprentices assured her that it was barely worrisome that he wasn’t there. He hadn’t been seen near the docks or the residential area, no matter how many people she asked. She even stretched herself to check the dragon arena, and her own personal training area―but he was nowhere to be found.

Gritting her teeth in anger, she stomped her way up the path to the Chief’s house. It was past noon, and not yet supper, but after the strange night she found herself starving for some food. She finally crested the steep hill leading to her new home, then found and ate a boiled potato that had been placed aside. It wasn’t meant for her and she knew it, but it was delicious regardless. She left again, and noticed something she hadn’t before. A trail of footprints, where mud had been stepped in, then hardened in the midday sun. It led into the forest behind the chief’s house. She followed it.

Barely a dozen steps into the forest, she began to find assorted armor scattered around, still following the footsteps moving deeper and deeper into the wooded labyrinth. Astrid’s skilled eyes caught the steps becoming farther apart, showing haste. Her interest was being piqued more and more. Finally, she came to a muddy mess where she could no longer tell where the footsteps led. They seemed to move in every direction, but when her eyes caught a huge opening in the ground, she felt the need to investigate.

She crept up to the edge, and consequently noted some muddy imprints that could have been footprints. She looked over the edge, and let her eyes whizz over this strange new sight she had never seen before. Her eyes widened in shock.

There was a huge lake nipping at the edges of its boundaries, clearly enlarged by the recent downpour. She watched the clouds breeze lazily across its reflective surface, and then allowed her eyes to wander some more.

By some strange twist of fate―the dangerous reality that could’ve destroyed Hiccup’s current life was not realized, and Astrid’s eyes glossed over the shadow-hidden dragon still sleeping in the mouth of the cave. Her eyes missed the night fury, and came to rest on the twisted mess of metal and machinery half-hidden in water. 

“What is that supposed to do?” she murmured quietly. Seeing the jaws clamped together, warped and broken, she began to figure it out. “Of course. He must have run off because he knew his creation couldn’t hold up in the rain.” She was wrong, of course, but it was a likely enough conclusion to her―neither she nor anyone else on berk (excluding Hiccup of course) had any knowledge of mechanics.

She was not surprised to find Hiccup’s secret area, or that he had been creating machines while his father had forbidden them. Most people knew he went off and hid himself away during the days―some people would even cover for him, like Gobber, or the twins, or even the timid Fishlegs. But finding proof was something that had never happened before.

She stared at the metal, and finally decided to find her way back. Hiccup may have been there before, but he was certainly not there anymore. She turned her back to the opening behind her, and just as she began walking away, she saw a strange, Hiccup-sized imprint of a body on the ground. She simply snorted, and walked on. After the dexterity and skill he revealed to her yesterday, she refused to believe he would fall face-first into the mud.

Finally, as the sun slowly fell out of the sky, she arrived back at the chief’s residence. She walked up to the door and without a moment’s hesitation, wrenched it open. She expected to see Hiccup, perhaps chastise him for his laxness in regards to his training.

What she opened the door to, however, was something she never would’ve imagined.

Hiccup stood near the doorway, and as the setting sun’s light flowed through onto his face and into his eyes, Astrid watched his eyes change from vertical slits―the kind that dragons used to steal their way into viking’s souls―into their normal spherical green. He fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thump. Astrid’s eyes moved from his comatose body, looking around the room.

Multiple eyes were carved into every wooden surface. The walls, floor, and table all had groups of eyes in a chilling gaze that watched her in the room’s entrance and froze her in her tracks. And not just any eyes. Dragon’s eyes. Not a Gronkle’s, they weren’t round enough. Nadders and Zipplebacks had eyes farther apart, so it couldn’t be theirs. Nightmares would’ve been smaller, beadier. Astrid found herself shivering under the constant surveillance of the unknown dragon’s eyes.

She looked around again, and saw an empty bottle next to Hiccup. Then she saw a knife stuck into the edge of one of the eyes. Had he carved all of them himself? Her confusion grew the more she tried to explain it all away. Waving away her stray thoughts, however, she looked down onto Hiccup’s prone body. She wanted to relax, to eat, then sleep a full night’s worth of sleep. Nevertheless, whether because of a soft spot in her heart, her father’s teachings of a healer’s policy, or simply to show that she was better than him, Astrid picked Hiccup up in her arms and carried him to her own bed. Wiping away sweat and ignoring her body’s protests to the best of her ability, she went about her work.

* * *

Hiccup woke up. It was morning, but his memories were fuzzier than usual. He sat up, then found himself in an unfamiliar room. No―he recognized it, it was his mother’s room. Where was Astrid?

He got up, and nearly fell down again with a headache crushing his skull from the inside out. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he stumbled to the door, and pushed it open. 

Eyes stared back at him. The same hurt, pure eyes that the night fury had looked at him with―they were everywhere. His headache only hurt more as he tried to focus. Then, forcing his eyes open, he saw one more thing that he hadn’t expected. Astrid was sitting on a chair with her head on the table, snoring loud enough for the entire world to hear. She was clearly worn to the bone.

Suddenly, she jerked up and looked around. Seeing Hiccup awake, she groggily got up and passed by him. Wordlessly, she started pulling different bags of grain or cartons of yak milk out. She began making a crude sludge for the both of them. Hiccup just blinked and watched, confused.

“Did you put me to bed last night?”

Astrid didn’t answer right away, and Hiccup wondered if it was because of the croaky voice he had spoken in. She scooped a large blob into a bowl, then another into a second bowl. One was placed in front of her seat at the table. The other was directly across from her. “Of course I did. I want to ask you a couple questions, so how about you sit down?”

Hiccup shuffled across the table, and sat down with his head in his hands, trying to alleviate the headache to some extent. “If you want to, Astrid. I don’t remember anything about the eyes, though, so if that’s the question I’ll just cut you off there.”

“Well that’s one less question, I guess. After I helped you, though, shouldn’t you be a little more respectful to me?”

Hiccup chuckled through his headache at her obvious attempt to gain a higher footing. “Astrid, I’ll tell you now. I’ll pay back this favor, no more or less. Don’t try and needle me into faking something.”

Her expression hardened, and her eyes narrowed. Hiccup felt a vaguely ominous feeling, and through the haze of pain, looked up into her eyes. She opened her mouth hesitatingly, but then bit back her cautiousness. “Well how about that secret area of yours? The one with the lake and that machine?”

Hiccup’s hair stood on end and he choked on the goopy oatmeal he had been choking down. He swallowed, then looked straight into Astrid’s eyes. Her anger was palpable, and she was quivering with how hard she had clenched her body. 

“W-what are you talking about, Astrid? I, um...don’t have anything like that?”

“Oh please. You’re so easy to read. Who else would make anything like that? Chief Stoick forbade it, and you’re the only one who constantly tests that kind of thing! All those broken parts, though, I can’t say you’re very good at what you do…”

“The fact that it’s broken has nothing to do with it!”

Astrid’s smile brought him to reality. He had revealed his connection to the area―and had tried to defend it, digging his hole even deeper. He blamed the grogginess and throbbing headache, but the damage had been done. He sat back down, having shot up defending his precious work of art, and shoved a large spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, more to shut himself up than anything else.

“Well?” Astrid stared at him with an unmatchable intensity that seemed to bore right through him. “Start talking, Hiccup, or you’ll regret ever trying to fight against me. I don’t want to do that to you, but you’re even dumber than I thought you were if you think that I’ll just let you walk all over me.”

Hiccup chewed slowly, mulling over his options. Certainly, his first instinct was to throw her off of his tracks―lying, sneaking, or whatever else would bring her to a less accurate conclusion. He could do it, but would he be able to sustain it? He considered himself quite eloquent, quite diplomatic, and certainly quite the accomplished liar. However, attempting to keep up a facade while the physical evidence disproved him at every turn would be nearly impossible.

He could kill her, of course. He always had at least two different knives on his person, and taking how close she was into consideration, even with his throbbing head and groggy mind he could cut her throat in a heartbeat. This, however, was akin to cutting all ties with the island. No amount of explaining would allow him to get away with killing the island’s poster girl. No matter what, if he had to kill Astrid, his life on Berk would come to an abrupt end―whether by mauling or by voluntarily sailing away.

The last plan he had ever expected to use―and never would have even considered it if it were not for the tense situation―was honesty. Could Astrid be trusted to be told everything? Would she scream, blabber, or become enraged? It was an imperfect plan, and Hiccup knew it. Nevertheless, the situation called for desperate measures, and having a partner was rarely a bad choice, especially if it was someone with prestige or strength. Astrid had both, and she also had one final component that spelled perfection for his plan. Hiccup’s plan was unbelievable, foolish, and likely suicide, but he had confidence in it. Hiccup breathed a deep, heavy breath. Astrid leaned forward in anticipation.

“Astrid, I need the grandfather clock Snotlout gave you.”

“What?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about reuploading all of the chapters as they were, I had to make some minor changes to this chapter. Otherwise, hope you enjoyed!


	7. A Plan and a Partner

Astrid thought about the strangeness that had invaded her previously normal viking life. In the short span of a few days, she had turned down an arranged marriage, taken a pupil and found herself vastly inferior to him, had found a secret cove containing a broken machine , then returned to her new home only to find Hiccup collapsing onto the floor, watched on all sides by cold, wooden eyes. 

After all that, she had expected it to be exceedingly hard to confound her any more.

Nevertheless, she found herself sitting on the ground in the dark with Hiccup―the supposed “worst” viking―surrounded by the spilled intestines of her recently-gifted grandfather clock. Hiccup’s explanations were strange, and Astrid felt a suspicion shifting in her gut that his explanation was incomplete―that he wasn’t telling her everything. Regardless, she watched as Hiccup’s steady hand sketched a long, thin cone. It was the fifth drawing he had made, and she watched silently, pondering what he had previously said.

* * *

**This morning…**

“What?”

“Astrid, I need that clock.”   
  


She shook her head in confusion, then snarled back, “What in Thor’s name is that supposed to mean? Tell me what you’ve been doing, or else―”

“Gods, talk quieter.” Hiccup massaged his temples and squinted into the grimy mess of oatmeal in front of him. He tried to think through his decision, but the headache seemed to box his head into a jumbled mess. “I can’t tell you everything. In fact, I can barely tell you anything, but this is for Berk. My dad outlawed it, but I have something much bigger on the horizon. Don’t you understand? It’s more than just me involved in this.”

Astrid was taken aback, but it seemed to make sense. If Hiccup had a partner, perhaps his absurd level of skill could make sense, or the strange, complicated machinery she had seen could be explained. She felt the need to dig deeper.

“What are you involved in? Can I meet your partner?” The words spilled out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Hiccup hid his smile―she had been hooked.

“Something big is going to happen to Berk soon, a calamity to challenge the gods.” Hiccup’s silver tongue rolled lies off it like water from a duck’s back, with or without a headache. With the barest of thought, he spun a web of lies―while Astrid would be an excellent partner, she was deeply rooted in the viking way. It would be best to deceive her for the time being, then reveal to her his true plan in time. She was arrogant and brash, but that made her earnest and truthful as well―she would hopefully, in time, become someone who Hiccup could trust. “My mentor―by the way, don’t insult him by calling him my partner, I’m barely worthy to be his servant―is like Gothi, he can speak with the gods. A huge catastrophe will be coming down upon this island. I’m preparing something, but I can’t tell you what i’m preparing.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. He had told her barely anything, and what he had said probably wouldn’t be proven―but it also explained some things. “So does that mean he’s been teaching you things? To prepare for this ‘calamity’?”

“Exactly. For a long, long time.”

“Why can’t you tell me? Or Chief Stoick, or anyone else? If it’s that big, then―”

“Astrid, even I don’t know. All I know is that the more I train, the more I can do to prevent this from happening, to protect Berk from the evil corroding it.” Hiccup chose his words carefully―he did indeed plan to “protect” the island and its people, although his definition of protection was undoubtedly warped from the rest of the population’s.

“Well…”

“Astrid, we both have things to do today, and the sun is rising. I’ll answer more of your questions tonight, but for now, let’s leave it at that.” Reluctantly, she agreed, and trudged out the door to train and wander through the village. She found herself feeling energized, and trained like a madman through the day’s baking heat.

Thus, the day passed, and her interest grew. Finally, once an elegant sliver of the moon shone down onto the island, the two young vikings lit a candle and worked together in the shadowy room, dismantling and rebuilding the clockwork. Astrid found herself being swept up in Hiccup’s pace, and while she found the rebellious act rather intriguing, she was constantly trying to drag out information from Hiccup. She could tell he had been lying, and she was insulted by it―did he think she was too stupid to understand? Too untrustworthy? She was determined to beat him at his own game. 

Hiccup’s answers to her pestering questions were quiet, flighty, and barely held any substance. Rather than learning more, Astrid seemed to be getting farther and farther from the heart of the matter. Hiccup’s attention was clearly more focused on his sketches and the bowels of the clock that he had removed. He was captivated by the hundreds of tiny, moving parts that seemed to create a symphony of rhythm.

Inside Hiccup’s mind, he tried again and again to put the pieces together. There were hundreds of small pieces, moving pieces, pieces that couldn’t break or shift or change in any way. He tried to sketch out everything, but it was simply impossible. His mind just didn’t have the space inside to create it. He had come upon a solution―it wasn’t just foolish, it was psychotic, insane, and everything in between, but he had confidence he could do it.

He would build the night fury a new tail. He had been the reason for its pain, and he had to undo his mistake. 

His mind had cleared from the foggy mess it was early on in the day (he blamed the alcohol, but no other viking seemed to have that kind of reaction) yet he still couldn’t complete the blueprint in his head. Astrid’s questions didn’t help, and he was beginning to regret telling her anything at all. “ _ If she keeps this up, maybe I’ll have to actually tell her some of the truth… _ ”

He moved more and more papers away, crumpling some, keeping others. He dismantled every piece in the clock, then rebuilt them together, then dismantled them again. The more he familiarized himself with the hundreds of pieces, the more he understood how momentous of a task he was attempting to tackle. Every piece had to be perfectly placed, and there were too many scenarios to imagine in which a mechanical tail could be broken.

Astrid finally stood up, and with a tired sigh, began walking to her own room. Hiccup barely noticed the change, he was so absorbed in his work. Just as she was leaving the dining room, she turned back. In her mind, she visualized herself confronting him about the shady story, extracting the truth, and rising even more to the eye of the island. But for some reason, she trusted him enough to hold her tongue. “ _ Maybe I’ll just watch for now...how bad could this mystery turn out? Hiccup’s not a bad person. _ ”

She left―wondering where her unexpected trust for Hiccup had come from―and our protagonist was left alone in the candlelight with a pained heart and a broken clock.

Hiccup stared at the candle’s flickering light, swaying like an exotic dancer. In the back of his mind, he accessed the shadowed pieces of his consciousness, just the barest amount. He focused on the light, staring straight into the fire as if it was his only lifeline―and he had a suspicion it was. After some thought, he had realized that his collapse the previous day had been preceded by Astrid walking into the house―and more importantly, the sunlight shining into his eyes and straight through his mind.

In fact, it made more and more sense that darkness was what the controller needed to take over―like years ago, when he had first been controlled, he vividly remembered the moon’s hidden face, gone when it should’ve shone down upon Berk. 

  
  
He called into the echoing darkness inside him―and the echo whispered back.

“Beginning to think that your own method won’t work?”

Hiccup focused on the light, and slowly responded, allowing the air to hiss through his teeth as he spoke. “Not a chance. In fact, it’s never seemed so easy.”

A slithery voice chuckled, and Hiccup somehow felt it probe his memory. “Is that so? I can’t help but notice how little progress you’ve made…and to think you were supposed to be a genius. How disappointing.”

Hiccup slyly smiled. He had been waiting for the controller to try and pry into his mind―that was exactly the moment Hiccup would be able to do the exact same to the aggressive darkness. It had happened once, it would happen again. While staring intently into the flickering light, he rushed to try and find a solution to his conundrum. How could he guarantee protection and precision of his all-important mechanism?

If the controller had had a face to identify it by, it would’ve raised an eyebrow in irritation, perhaps in amusement. Hiccup heard “So...you plan to steal what you want? What a daring child you are…” and he felt himself begin to struggle to stay inside the depths of his own mind. He clawed his way further, and as the pressure began to build, he felt an inspiration―a tiny flash of knowledge that he had come upon.

Hiccup felt himself be pushed out, and he shook his head. There was little to no trace of his adversary, and Hiccup smiled at his success. At the last second, he had found his solution, and the presence was gone. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he nearly collapsed as he fell asleep on the floor, bare hours before the sun came up.

Perhaps if he had stayed awake just a bit longer, he could’ve been conscious to see the small, flickering light of the candle be snuffed out―eaten by the darkness of the night.

* * *

“FOCUS, HICCUP!” Gobber yelled down at his apprentice after he barely dodged a blast of shimmering fire. “You’re not even trying!” 

Hiccup hurried away from the nadder, then escaped its view in the labyrinth that Gobber had created. Wooden fences blocked every turn, and the teens had found themselves wandering through a maze, hoping to the gods that they wouldn’t be the ones to encounter the dragon, alone and unexpecting. 

Hiccup heard a rather girly scream, followed by Fishlegs’s voice berating Gobber for his willingness to let his students be hurt. Gobber only chuckled and quipped back at Fishlegs. Hiccup stood in a corner and attempted to focus, but his sleep-deprived mind was barely functioning. He wouldn’t even be here, if it weren’t for Astrid’s loving wake-up kick. Dazed and tired, he was stumbling around the arena hoping he wouldn’t have to fight anything―or anyone.

Unfortunately, just as he was thinking those thoughts, Astrid appeared in front of him, followed by Snotlout. Astrid nodded her head in silent greeting, as not to alert the nadder, but Snotlout spat a huge wad of phlegm at Hiccup’s feet. 

  
  
Lovely.

Hearing arguing and shouting not far from them, Hiccup decided to follow Snotlout and Astrid. He may have been sleep-deprived, but he was not a fool―strength in numbers was always a good idea. They crept to the edge of a wall, and Astrid―the leader, of course―peeked around the edge. She drew back quickly, then gestured in a way that suggested they roll past the opening, right in the dragon’s blind spot. She, then Snotlout rolled concisely and quickly across, finally, Hiccup rolled across.

As he bent down and pushed off the tips of his feet, he felt his weight was off, and the ground seemed closer than it should’ve been. He hit the ground awkwardly, and his shield seemed to kill his momentum―as well as make a dangerously audible clank. With a strangely rough squawk, the nadder turned its head towards the boy. Shaking off his grogginess with a sudden influx of fear, he shot up and began running, the nadder in hot pursuit. 

Right, then left, then right again. The dragon simply ignored the walls and barreled right through them. Hiccup nearly ran into Astrid―also attempting to escape―and the nadder locked its sights on her. She moved like a perfect predator, both gracefully and with intent to fight back, aside from the fact that she was running from the dragon like prey. Crashing through the wooden fencing, the Deadly Nadder crashed headfirst into the stone wall of the arena, and conversely, Astrid had collided headlong into Hiccup.

The smog and dust seemed to cover the air for longer than it should’ve, then began to settle. The nadder shook off the shredded wood from the fences, and stood up with an angry screech. With a quick look around, it located Astrid and Hiccup in an uncomfortable tangle on the ground. The other vikings noticed this at the same time, unfortunately for the two.

“Ooh, love on the battlefield.”

“She could do better.”

Astrid struggled to stand up, and growled at the twins in a hurried retort, while still kneeling on Hiccup’s stomach. She didn’t feel as angry as she would’ve expected herself to feel, what with the recent developments between herself and Hiccup―not to mention seeing his skilled, confident side―so she let the jeering cries roll off her back...mostly. She heard the dragon’s footsteps running closer, and with increasing urgency, she yanked at her axe, ignoring Hiccup’s protests. With one final tug that felt as if it had no resistance at all, she launched off the ground with a wooden shield stuck on the end of her axe.

The shield splintered into kindling against the nadder’s head, and it stumbled to the side, clearly injured. Astrid would’ve felt proud of such a hit any day―but she knew it wasn’t her own power. She’d realized as she hit it, that her movement from ground to striking was unnatural, even for a viking. Now, looking down at Hiccup, she saw the position he laid in. She searched through her mind, but couldn’t figure out how he would’ve been able to both slip his hand out of the shield so smoothly, as well as boost her up to face the beast.

However, it seemed like he had done exactly that.

She simply stared at him, as he stood and brushed himself off. He held his hand out with a short “Great job, Astrid” but he seemed preoccupied. Astrid took his hand, and behind Hiccup, saw Snotlout’s face devolve into a scowl. Gobber, shaking his head at the destruction of the arena, led the barely conscious dragon into its residence and threw a few small fish into the cave-like structure as he closed the door. After a few words, Gobber released his students, and they filtered out, chattering and enjoying themselves.

Trailing behind them, though, Gobber watched his students. After years of training students, he could read most young vikings like a book: Hiccup was anxious, and seemed distracted. Astrid was not angry, as their teacher would’ve expected her to be, but was instead calm and collected. Finally, Snotlout was livid, and his quick, frequent glares told volumes towards who his hatred was directed at. The three of them were likely the most skilled three in the class, and Gobber hoped a quiet hope that they would all be able to get along.

The group walked back to town, and they dispersed. Gobber sighed as he watched them all go in their own directions. “Ah, good gods… Let’s hope that today is quieter than I think it’ll be.”

* * *

Hiccup wandered at the edge of the woods, stalling. His plan required something he never would have tried to do, under any other circumstance. But since it was for the greater good, he had buckled down and prepared himself.

Except for the fact that he was procrastinating as much as he could, trying to wait the uncomfortableness out. It seemed to be endless, and he paced the edge of the forest, waiting for the right time to come. The time didn’t seem to be soon, however; Two hours had passed since he had left the arena with the other teens, but he couldn’t get himself to enter the woods.

Behind him, he heard the snapping of twigs that often came from walking heavily. He turned around and came face to face with Snotlout’s brick-like face, flanked by two of his family’s better-known vikings. They were always shown in the spotlight when the yearly tournament came around, but now the frowns on their faces made them look more like thugs than popular medal-winners.

“Hey Hiccup” sneered the black-haired boy. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want, Snotlout?”

“You’re really getting along with Astrid, now, huh? I heard you’re being trained by her now―where was that training today? Stumbling around and all that, you almost got us all killed by the Nadder! Boy, even with our star student training you, you sure are garbage, huh?”

“Why are you here, Snotlout?”

Hiccup’s clear indifference to Snotlout’s taunts began to make the muscle-bound teen red in the face. His head cocked to the side and he tried again. “I want you to get away from Astrid. You’re a nobody, and hanging off her just makes you annoying. She needs more of a viking than...this.” He gestured at Hiccup’s seemingly scrawny body. “I’m the only one who can have her, and you’re just a little bug in my way. I’ll make you regret trying to stand up to me” He began walking up to Hiccup, and as Hiccup began to back away―hoping to avoid a fight rather than to hurt his peer―Snotlout’s cronies circled around and held Hiccup in place.

“Don’t do this, Snotlout. You know there’s nothing I’m doing to get between you and Astrid!” Hiccup’s voice rose into a shout, then was cut off by a fist colliding with his throat.

A barrage of fists and feet hit Hiccup like an avalanche, hitting his legs, shoulders, stomach, face and neck. After ten whole minutes of this torture, Hiccup fell to the floor, and Snotlout’s heavily breathing body stood above him. “It’s not just Astrid, you little prick. You have everything that I want. Chief’s heir, money, and Astrid―but you waste it all. What a damn disgrace.”

Hiccup was silent, and eventually, the three Jorgensons left. Hiccup stood up, and noted the bruising all over his body. Blood speckled his clothes, and when he wiped at his face, he came away with blood on his hands. Hiccup coughed, and his throat burned with the inhale that followed it. He was regretting his choice in stealthy armor―dragon scales did wonders against blades or flame, but they were thin, and in consequence, blunt force hurt just as much as it always did.

The pain brought him solace, however. He knew exactly what to do, how to go about fixing the tail. It was truly madness, but he knew that as long as he got through to the dragon―the intelligent mind behind those pained eyes―he could pull it off. Finally, he walked into the woods with a confident gait.

Then ran back out into his house, as he had forgotten his sketches.

* * *

A living shadow paced at the bottom of the cove―the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. A night fury. It moved slowly, as if it were attempting to keep its balance―and the reason may have been the missing tail. The tail laid in the sun, the previous day’s rain still leaving a puddle around it. It hadn’t begun to stink yet, but the dragon simply knew enough to stay away, more instinct than conscious thought, but it still stayed away. It was hungry. There were fish in the lake, but without its tail, it was an impossible task to catch even the smallest minnow.

For what seemed to be the millionth time, it tried to think back to how he arrived here. For the millionth time, he failed. Its memory was dark, nearly nonexistent. Brief flashes of light and overwhelming oceans of darkness encompassed his mind, up until the previous day. With a searing burst of pain, he was able to break free, only to find himself stuck in a pit.

Suddenly, a movement caught the dragon’s watchful eye. To his surprise, the human from the previous day had returned, and this time, he carried a huge sack―much larger than something he looked capable of carrying. Standing on the edge of the cliff, the human stared down into the dragon’s eyes, and their stares stayed locked for much longer than either of them wanted it to. The dragon growled softly, and the faint smell of blood pervaded its nostrils.

Breathing a tiny amount of gas, the night fury estimated it had three―perhaps four plasma shots charged and ready. He raised his ears and growled menacingly, attempting to frighten away the human. If it came to a real fight, a tail-less dragon would lose nine out of ten times, even a legendary night fury.

The human began descending the rocks as if they were a ladder made for him, seeming to ignore the threat of death oozing from the dragon. Reaching the ground, he began to make his way towards the tail. With a flash of white anger, the night fury lept overtop it, a sick, pained growling emanating from his throat.

The boy stopped, then began to move slowly: first he put down his large sack. It slumped over on the ground, and a dull jingling came from inside it. The night fury’s growling did not stop, but he tilted his head in curiosity. The boy slowly reached into his vest, then began drawing something out of it. Sensing danger, the night fury began to prepare himself to fire a plasma bolt. When a sharp object began to show itself, the night fury let loose.

The human flew backwards with the impact of the blast barreling into his stomach. He sprawled out on the ground and didn’t move for a few seconds, then slowly stood up. A large, circular burn went right through his clothes, and revealed a scaly undershirt. The dragon recoiled a bit in surprise―no wonder he was so persistent, the human thought he was protected. The human reached down, and began slowly grabbing another knife, this one attached to his belt. The night fury retaliated once more, this time a stronger blast right to the chest.

The boy shot backwards, and coughed up a wet, hacking cough. He propped himself up from the ground, and blood was running from both his nose and the corners of his mouth. His breathing was ragged and heavy, but he still stood up once more. He stood crooked, and his entire upper body’s clothing was torn off, fully revealing the scaly undershirt he wore. It was a dark blue, and clearly was made to fit him exactly. The boy began stepping forwards once more―slowly and cautiously, and holding his hands out in what may have been meant to be a calming motion. One last time, the night fury began letting a ball of flame build in his mouth both confused and frightened. He prepared to fire this last shot at the boy’s head.

The human paused, then in a raspy voice, said something. The dragon didn’t understand what he was saying, but it seemed to be important, and the boy was clearly putting his true feelings on the line. They couldn’t communicate, but could their thoughts get across to each other?

The dragon slowly, ever so slowly, swallowed his fire and his murderous looks. It backed away from its tail―which it never would’ve under any normal circumstance―and sat back to watch what the human would do.

In return, the human crossed the gap between them, placed a fish on the ground, then walked back to the tail. He watched as the dragon warily grabbed the fish, then promptly spit up blood as his eyes rolled back into his head. The dragon simply watched in astonishment.

  
  



	8. The Trials of a Mechanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter on, VigoGrimborne has been my beta reader on ff.net, and I cannot thank him enough for it.

Hiccup felt a warm breeze blowing across his face ―unnaturally warm. His eyes fluttered open, and he came face-to-face with a black dragon. Noticing his newly opened eyes, the Night Fury leapt back in alarm, although it seemed much less wary than it had been previously. It paced near the rock that Hiccup found himself propped up on, and he wondered if the dragon had dragged him over, or if he had fallen into that position ever so conveniently. He couldn’t remember.

Hiccup reached back and attempted to lift himself to his feet, but the pain in his chest forced the breath out of him. He began to probe his ribs and chest, and found multiple points where he was bruised, if not worse. In fact, his entire front seemed to be a myriad of red, purple, and black bruises, and the soreness all over his body didn’t help alleviate the nervous feeling he was beginning to get. “Damn...you really can pack a punch.” he muttered in the dragon’s general direction.

The night fury tilted his head in curiosity, still slowly pacing.

Hiccup tried once more to get up, but with a roughly exhaled breath, he roughly fell back down to the ground. The dragon―ever as cautious as it was―crept closer to the unmoving teen. Hiccup tensed as it moved closer, and by the time it’s head was nearly on top of him. Hiccup’s entire body was tingling with nerves and energy. For the first time in ages, Hiccup felt fear.

Fear itself was not an unusual emotion for him to feel. He felt it when arguing with Stoick, or attempting a new venture in his blacksmithing, or walking through the village―with the stares burning into him. This was different, however―he was helpless, weak, and could be eaten or killed with barely any effort. The dragon made a noise deep in its throat, and Hiccup flinched as the noise repeated with increased intensity each time―

Hiccup jumped―his nervous energy releasing all at once―as a slimy fish’s tail was regurgitated onto his lap.

Hiccup wrinkled his lip in both confusion and disgust. The Night Fury sat back, and what could be described as a lopsided grin grew on its face. Hiccup’s face wrinkled, and he looked between the tail and the dragon. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?” He asked in no particular direction. Noticing the crooked smile on the dragon’s face, Hiccup’s eyebrows lifted: “Huh… No teeth? That’s strange.” He moved the fish to the side, and tried once more to lift himself to his feet.

Once he fell to the ground again―this time because of the tremble resonating through his legs―the dragon dared to move closer, looking from the fish to the boy, then back again. Hiccup followed its eyes, then groaned, “You gotta be kidding me…”. Wincing, he lifted the fish to his mouth and took a bite, not wanting to spit all over the apparent kindness the dragon was showing him. Instead, however, he nearly spat up the fish guts all over himself.

Forcing the disgusting mouthful down, Hiccup couldn’t help but chuckle. This entire situation was ridiculous―two would-be enemies able to attempting to care for each other, even when they were the reason for each other’s injuries. He finally got himself to stand on two shaky legs, and reached out slowly to the Night Fury.

This was clearly the wrong choice. With a frightened snarl, the dragon leapt away and glided unsteadily to a rock formation, where it sat and watched Hiccup’s every move. Neither of them had ever been at a weaker point in their life, and both of them were wary. Both had kind hearts, but both were hard pressed to show it. They seemed to find an equilibrium, and it was comfortable.

As the sun began to set, Hiccup dragged his baggage into the cave, lit up the depths of the forge, and nailed his sketches to the walls. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Astrid sat at the chief’s house―her temporary home―waiting for Hiccup once again. She sharpened her axe, and flipped it about as if it was part of her. After the fiasco in the arena this morning, she hadn’t seen him―and not for lack of trying. She had looked nearly everywhere in the village, asked nearly half the people on the island, and had even prowled the edge of the forest, doubting he would’ve gone to his hidden grove just yet. However, it was the end of the day, and Hiccup still had not returned.

She considered waiting―barging into his personal space wasn’t something Astrid particularly cared to do―but she had already been waiting for an hour. She stood up, walked out the door, and with axe in hand, began the trek to Hiccup.

* * *

The sound of metal on metal vibrated out from a warmly lit cave. Hiccup had been modifying the clock’s gears since earlier, and as the last remaining golden light poured from the sky, he wrapped up the last few gears. That had been the easy job, even with his battered bones. Next came the dangerous, difficult job that likely wouldn’t be resolved for multiple days, at least.

Hiccup strode out of his cave and pulled his mask off, revealing a red, sweaty face. He wiped at it and breathed in the cool evening air, reveling in its fresh crispness. He gulped in anticipation.

It may have been suicide, the idea that he had snagged from the shadowy controller’s mind, but it was the only plan he had that would work. Any machine―be it big, small, or simple enough a viking child could understand it―would wear down over time. This was the foremost problem when it came to building a new tail for the night fury. There were certainly other issues, but if the machine wore down and broke, nothing else would matter. The solution he had come upon bypassed all of these problems.

_ He simply had to re-use the cut tail. _

It was insanity to think that the night fury would allow him to hollow out and mechanize its ripped-off tail―let alone even touch the damn thing―but Hiccup hoped they could find an equilibrium. If it was for its own good, maybe they could get along.

Nerves tingling, Hiccup began walking towards the butchered tail under the watchful eyes of the Night Fury―it hadn’t moved since it had last placed itself on its watchtower. Once he was a few steps away, the dragon leapt from its perch and placed itself between the boy and the tail, baring its teeth with a fearsome ferocity. 

“Teeth? But I’m so sure it had none earlier…” Hiccup murmured quietly, vaguely aware of the irony that in this heart-stopping situation, he merely focused on the teeth. He stepped back a few steps, then raised his hands in a way to indicate that he meant no harm. He looked down, then to his sides. He couldn’t think of a way to get through to the wild and intelligent beast. As the sun’s light faded, all Hiccup could see of his adversary was two shining eyes. He retreated a bit more, then walked into his cave to extinguish the light.

* * *

Astrid walked to the edge of the cliff. The light from the sky was gone, but there was a glow emanating from the cave across the cove. She saw a human’s silhouette moving about in the dim light, and watched it with an intense stare. It moved slowly but with a purpose, and not long after she had begun observing, the light went out, and the figure began leaving.

Astrid felt a bit of irritation that her short journey had led to nothing but what she expected―Hiccup was in his secret cove, likely tinkering on something of little to no importance. She saw no trace of other figures in the darkness as her eyes swept the area, and her suspicions regarding Hiccup’s so-called “mentor” grew. Somehow, though, she felt that his words had been hiding something else, as if he was lying for her own good. She swiveled around, and began walking back to her new home.

As she looked back one last time, however, she saw the faintest of movement in the depths of the lightless cove―like a dark ink on a black canvas. She blinked, and it was gone. She turned, and began the quick jog back.

Over the next few days, Hiccup’s routine had been set―although it would perhaps be better to say it was set for him. Waking, eating, and smithing filled his days; with frequent interruptions from Astrid’s futile attempts to get him back to their planned training. Every day, he found another way to escape her nagging―whether it was faking an illness, hiding in the smithy, or constantly moving from place to place. It was something of a game to him, and while it was relatively simple and harmless, he saw Astrid begin to learn as well, tracking him and attempting to outsmart his clever tricks. “It’s almost like I’m the one training her.” chuckled Hiccup on the fourth afternoon, sketching fervently while hiding in a makeshift hammock he had hidden in a tree. Even this sneakery had its risks, since if he disappeared for too long, she might venture off to explore the cove in more detail―and that was the last thing he needed.

He was constantly working―whether in the smithy, in his own house, or on the move. Every night, he returned to the cove and worked a little more on the pieces of the tail...but he was running out of things to try. He had begun to form a tenacious bond with the Night Fury―whom he had affectionately nicknamed “Toothless”―but the tail remained off-limits. Hiccup had begun to worry, and while his knowledge of diseases and sickness was limited, he knew that a wound―especially one as large as an entire tail’s absence―would quickly degrade from an injury into something irreparable.

Hiccup looked down from his vantage point and scanned the area, and noticing Astrid was gone, he began to climb down. It was nearing the end of the day, and he decided to make his way to the cove. He began to walk in that direction, but then paused. In the past few days, Snotlout had begun what could be considered a passive takeover of the mountain. He loitered near Hiccup’s house at whatever hours he pleased, and acted aggressively towards anyone who attempted to talk sense into him―Hiccup especially. 

Hiccup decided to take a different route.

The sun, although beginning to set, shone through the leaves and littered the rough ground of the forest. Hiccup distractedly shuffled through, attempting to figure out how to finish the job he had started. At the moment, the only two ways he could imagine getting to the tail was through befriending the dragon completely, or through subduing it, and making it unable to stop him. Both were as improbable as anything else he had thought of. Muddling through his thoughts, Hiccup tripped over a protruding root and fell, scraping his arm where the Shadow had burned it, so many years ago.

Hiccup winced and swore quietly, but the pain brought a new realization to his mind―something far more sinister, and something he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. He moved this new idea to the back of his mind...regardless, subduing the Night Fury was likely to be much more simple. He set himself a restriction, however―it was only to be used as a last resort. After all the work he had done to bond with Toothless, hurting or drugging him would be the equivalent to undoing all of it.

Finally, Hiccup arrived at the cove, and as had become the usual for him, he called out as he climbed down the wall.

“Hey Toothless! I’m back!” 

Reaching the ground, Hiccup opened up his bag and removed two large fish that he had stolen from the food hall. Although it wasn’t enough for a full meal for the dragon, it helped in the bigger picture. Toothless’s meals often consisted of nothing but the edible plants that grew in the small opening, and those were beginning to wear thin―Hiccup hoped he could get the dragon back into the air sooner rather than later. After placing the fish on the ground, Hiccup tentatively moved past the dragon. Although they had formed a bond over the past few days, Toothless and Hiccup had a clear rift between them.

Walking into his cave, Hiccup removed his most recent sketch from his bag and nailed it to the wall, alongside twelve others. Thirteen conic drawings of machinery and metal that became more and more intricate as they went on now were placed on the wall. Pacing back and forth in front of the drawings, Hiccup couldn’t help but visualize every piece, every tiny shard of metal, and how they would all fit together. He hadn’t yet figured out the entirety of the problems, but the most important issues were able to be controlled; if Hiccup built the tail as he planned it now, at the very least, Toothless could fly, with minimal or no help.

Slowly and with extreme care, Hiccup crept near the tail. It was as close as it always was to the mangled dragon trap; seeing them both together made him wince in remembrance. As he moved closer to it, he felt Toothless’s gaze fall on the back of his head―simply watching, nothing more.

Hiccup stared at it, measured it―without touching the tail, of course―and tenderly circled it to make sure he knew every bit of the detached appendage. He looked back at Toothless, and their eyes locked. The dragon was tense, but not so much as it had been the previous days. Hiccup knelt down, putting his hand barely inches from the tail, and Toothless’s eyes narrowed, a low growl creeping from his throat. 

Hiccup backed away cautiously, and sighed in dejection. He had hoped that Toothless would’ve learned to trust him, but without the ability to communicate, they would always be bound to their cautious space between them. Hiccup, quivering with the energy it took to tense his body against Toothless’s gaze, shuffled away and sat upon a pond-side rock. Twirling a long, thin cone of metal between his fingers that he had used to measure the tail, Hiccup began scratching into the matted sand.

With a few long strokes, he drew the entirety of a Night Fury―then slashed a thick line through the tail. Next to it, he began deconstructing the different parts, and drew what the tail’s machine form would look like. Soon, he was absorbed in his drawings, refining his invention more and more as it went on. A full hour later, he scratched the last bits of detail into some gears, then looked up to find the setting sun’s beaming face beating down upon him. Hiccup turned his head the opposite direction to shield his eyes―but came face-to-face with a frightening image.

Toothless was sitting quietly next to the boy’s rock, intently studying the sketches he had made on the ground. In his surprise, Hiccup leapt backwards and slipped halfway into the trance-like state. The cove was still well-lit, so he felt his control grasp tightly onto his consciousness. Unperturbed, the dragon simply stared at the drawings. Hiccup stood back, tense and watchful, hoping it would understand something and not simply become angered.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, Hiccup realized what this could mean. If Toothless, with near-human intelligence, had the chance to learn from his drawings, they could bypass their language barrier and hopefully come to an understanding. Hiccup now watched with an eager hope that Toothless would be able to decipher his scribbling. Eventually, the dragon sauntered away, towards its usual area of residence. Hiccup sighed, wishing something else could’ve been done, but in the end, it was impossible.

A ripping, snapping sound interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head to find Toothless tearing a small tree out of the ground. Even more unbalanced now than usual, he dragged the tree across the ground, making large, haphazard gashes in the sand-like dirt. Swirling in seemingly meaningless patterns, Toothless swung the uprooted tree in a frenzy, accidentally swinging it at Hiccup in the process. 

With his trance-boosted reflexes, Hiccup skipped backwards. He looked on as the energized dragon added some last holes into the ground, then lightly trotted across his creation and threw aside the tree. Hiccup stepped up to the edge of the scribbled mess, and looked over it.

Any normal person would look upon it and see nothing. A garbled mess, nothing more. Hiccup saw a message, even though he was unsure how he could understand it. However, whether it was because of his own unique mind, because he simply understood the Night Fury so well, or even because he was currently still partially in his trance-like state, he could understand it. It was an expression of gratefulness; it was a statement of understanding; it was an agreement.

Hiccup untensed his body, freeing himself from the thin veil of trance he had instinctively kept over his eyes. In the fading light of evening, he nodded, and Toothless nodded back. Hiccup felt an urge to approach him and touch the dragon, but he held himself back. Though they may have come to an understanding, Hiccup dared not interrupt the princely aura that the Night Fury let off. Perhaps someday, they would come to understand each other to that extent―but today was not that day.

Since the setting sun had begun to send long shadows unfurling over the cove, Hiccup planned to go back to the village soon―Gobber had mentioned something of a meeting with his students. In the last bit of evening light, Hiccup finally had the chance to touch the tail―measuring it exactly, feeling the chiseled perfection of the scales, probing for the best way to remove the muscle from the cone. Toothless watched warily, but not in a piercing, dangerous way that he had been up until now. Finally, Hiccup left, excited and hopeful.

* * *

“And with one twist, he took my hand―and swallowed it whole”

The teens were circled around a fire in the cold Berk air, roasting their own suppers and listening to a gripping tale. Gobber was telling his story of how he lost his hand and his leg, and like a fish on a hook, the teens were spellbound by his masterful storytelling. Hiccup nibbled on a fish and tried to focus on Gobber’s story―and tried to ignore the wrathful stare of Astrid boring into his head. This was the fourth day in a row he had ignored her training instructions, or even not met with her to discuss it.

Consequently, Hiccup was trapped in the watchtower, stuck between a long way down, an angry woman, and a handful of his peers.

“He must’ve told the others about it, because it wasn’t a week before another one of ‘em took my leg.”

The teens gasped, and Gobber’s lopsided grin grew wider. The group burst out with questions and comments, none of which Hiccup listened to. He was too focused on ignoring the obvious glare from Astrid―and the less obvious, but colder stare that was sent his way by Snotlout. It was sparse, but the scowl sent across the fire was colder than any night sky that could’ve been imagined. Snotlout was silent, and Hiccup felt the silence even through the noise of the group. It pressured him more than any bragging and boastfulness from the large teen ever had.

The clamor died down, Gobber spoke again. “It’d be best for you all to go back to your houses. It’s not long before we go on to fighting the big boys―slowly but surely working our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. I hope you’ve been training like I told you, since our village elder Gothi will be watching, deciding the star pupil and giving him or her the chance.”

Almost all of the teens leaned forward in anticipation. Even Hiccup shifted in his spot, although it was more based off the fact that for once this night, there weren’t any eyes boring into him. Unfortunately for him, he still couldn’t leave without attracting attention. The air had hushed along with the teens, and as they all began to plan their strategies to rise to the top of class, or reviewing the abilities of each dragon, their thoughts were interrupted by a smug voice.

“It’s gonna be me―it’s my destiny! See?” Tuffnut lifted up his shirt to reveal a dark, vaguely dragon-shaped blob on his ribs.

Fishlegs gasped. “Your mom let you get a tattoo?” He asked.

“It’s not a tattoo, it’s a birthmark!”

“Uh, I’ve lived with you my entire life, and I’ve never seen that before.” Ruffnut interjected

As their conversation degenerated into a petty squabble, Hiccup wondered how he would escape the clutches of Snotlout and Astrid. All the teens began to follow Gobber down the walkway, and Hiccup found himself stuck squarely between the two, shuffling down from the watchtower. The twins’s voices rose in argument again, and their raucous voices cut through the night.

As they all reached the ground, Hiccup swiftly moved forward and draped his arm over Tuffnut’s shoulders, putting on an interested, happy face. “Yeah, I bet you will get to fight the dragon, Tuff. You really improved in the last two training sessions, didn’t you?”

Tuffnut turned his head in surprise, but his ego responded quickly. “Of course! I’m not surprised you noticed, but since you’ve seen my god-like techniques…” Tuffnut droned on, and Hiccup listened intently. The two of them―three, if you included Ruffnut trailing behind and delivering scathing remarks from time to time―walked off into the night and through the town. 

Hiccup kept his ears focused on Tuffnut, but the remainders of his senses were constantly probing for the chance that Snotlout or Astrid was following them. Astrid was likely waiting for him at his home―but Hiccup was unsure if Snotlout would leave or follow him. Finally, the three of them arrived at the twins’s house. 

“Alright, Hiccup, I’m glad you took the time to learn from me―the human weapon himself. We’ll see you in training!” Tuffnut said happily. His smile diminished slightly when Ruffnut kicked him in the shin and called him a moron, but he was still clearly happy that Hiccup had taken time to walk with them. 

“Hey...Hiccup!” Hiccup turned back to listen to Tuffnut once more “Well...You’re not so bad, you know? Even if Snotlout says you’re not, you’re a good guy. Let’s train together sometime―or even better, prank some of these grouchy vikings, eh?” Ruffnut nodded in assent.

Hiccup grinned back at the twins. “Thanks, guys. Let’s do that sometime.” Turning around, he jogged home with a light heart and a clear mind. The tail, the twins...maybe his luck was finally turning for the better.

He arrived home without running into anyone else, then allowed Astrid to yell at him for a bit before he left to go sleep. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the small quirk forcing his mouth into a barely noticeable smile. His smile was―for the first time since he could remember―a smile of nothing but happiness, without any ill feeling channeled into it. 

He hoped it would last.

  
  



	9. Communications and Inventions

Dragon raids were never predictable. They followed a certain cycle, although the time between each raid always varied ―making them an irritating inevitability. For the current inhabitants of the island―the majority being the women and warriors-in-training―this meant a hectic, fear-filled night of bustling around putting out fires and beating back waves of bloodthirsty dragons. 

For Hiccup, it was a gift. Not only did it mean that the training session against the next dragon (he assumed it would be the Zippleback, based off of Gobber’s previous years of teaching) would be pushed back another day, but he would have the chance to sneak away materials for the tail. Running through the chaotic night, he dodged burly women rushing to combat the beasts and snuck into the now-unguarded storehouse. 

The majority of what he needed was already at the cove―his forge, clockwork bits, and his sketches. However, he still required other materials, the foremost being something allowing the tail to be reconnected in a way that wouldn’t be painful for Toothless. After shuffling through the dark storehouse and prying into multiple different boxes, he found the island’s animal products. Cow’s leather was in short supply (as it always was on Berk) but there was an overwhelming amount of wool; Hiccup took a portion of both, considering the multitudes of ways they could be used.

On his way out, Hiccup’s eye caught on the baskets closest to the door―their food supply. He could smell the fishy scent wafting out from them, and his mind went to the trapped, and likely malnourished dragon he had hiding in a pit. With a sigh, he hefted one of the baskets onto his shoulder and then crept out of the storehouse.

As Hiccup jogged a short ways into the forest, he looked back at the village. Even with the near-halved population of Vikings, the dragons were being held back by a combination of reckless bravery and masterful tactical planning from Gobber. 

After getting a suitable distance from the edge of the forest, Hiccup put down his newly acquired materials and covered them with a small amount of brambles. Even if it was unlikely that anyone would come this far into the woods, he still took the time to hide them. Satisfied with his work, he turned back and calmly walked into the cesspool of fire and Vikings.

* * *

Astrid ran through the town; with a bucket full of water in one hand, and her axe in the other, she rushed from house to house to check for dragons, fire, or anything else dangerous. She had confidence in her own abilities, so she had left behind the other teens.

Hiccup, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. She fumed with anger as she kicked open another door, water splashing at her feet. She growled at the dark room, then turned around to keep moving on. To her surprise, she noticed Hiccup walking peacefully down the mountain, as if it were any other day―or night, in this case. Her fists clenched and she began walking towards him. Then, noticing a Hideous Zippleback creeping up behind him, she broke into a sprint.  _ If I get there quick enough, I can help him fight it off! _ She thought.  _ We haven’t even gotten to train against them, but I have one bucket―we’ll just need to bait it into showing its spark-breathing head, then― _

Suddenly, and with no warning, Hiccup launched himself into the air. His skinny body contorted, and with a whiplike motion, his foot collided with the right head. By the time he had landed, a knife was already in his hand raking across the weakest part of the dragon’s scaly throat. 

Astrid watched in horrified amazement as Hiccup evaded the two heads, both snaking around him in a twisted dance. His knife moved like a bird, swiftly and accurately from one neck to the other. The way that Hiccup fought was unlike any Viking in the that she knew―basing it in speed and endurance. Her eyes narrowed as the Zippleback’s heads began to slow, and their attacks became sloppy. In a last-ditch attack, it began breathing huge plumes of green gas, hoping to blow away the quick, deadly teen.

Its hope was in vain. Hiccup moved quickly and cut deeply into the head that would’ve set the blast off. It swung outward, then dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The other head attempted to move, but without its partner, it fell quickly. Hiccup stood over his prey, and wiped the green blood off his knife.

Astrid finally breathed, and untensed her body. Just as she decided to leave, Hiccup looked around, and his eyes locked with hers. There was barely any recognition, barely any life. He was simply too far beyond her―and she knew it. She stormed away; her tears welling up in hate―directed both at him and herself. Training would do nothing to bridge the massive gap between them.

* * *

Hiccup gulped a huge breath of air as he removed himself from the trance-like state. It had been a risky gamble, with the darkness of night pressing down upon him, but there was a fire close enough to him that he was able to suppress the controller. He had barely even meant to slip into it, but when the dragon surprised him from behind, it simply happened―like slipping under the surface of a cool lake.

He looked behind him again, and Astrid was gone. He wasn’t surprised, but at the same time, he worried that she would tell Gobber, or the teens, or anyone else. He looked down at the corpse―considering whether to leave it or not.

Dragon corpses have been one of the most important resources on Berk since the day the Vikings inhabited it. Their scales were tough and flexible, but still light. Their meat was tough, but it would last much longer than mutton or chicken. Their claws and spikes were often used as makeshift spearheads or traps, but were otherwise useless. The rest of the dragons―their organs and bones―were often sold at a low price to merchants.

Over the course of his life, Hiccup had learned just how stupid Vikings could be. With a little experimentation (and paying Trader Johann a hefty sum) he had learned just how useful these leftovers could be. The bones could be used for construction, and both the organs and bone marrow could be mixed into medicines. The few times he had gotten his hands on a near-complete dragon corpse he had used or experimented on every piece of it.

With a sigh, he decided to leave the dragon―although in reality, he didn’t have much choice. Even Stoick or Gobber couldn’t move a fully grown dragon all by themselves. Wincing at the thought of leaving perfectly good materials behind, however, he took a serrated knife from his boot and knelt down to the body.

After a quick look around to confirm the absence of any other Vikings, he set to work at the Zippleback’s scales and limbs. Luckily, he was at the edge of the village, so nearly all the Vikings and dragons would be trading blows near the center. Even so, he hurriedly sawed at the dragon. Thirty minutes later, Hiccup had removed the majority of the scales, as well as the heads and legs. After hiding them near the previously hidden fish and wool, he set out once more to watch the invasion.

Aside from the previous raid, in which he was interrupted by Toothless’s unexpected arrival at the cove, Hiccup always took the time to remove himself and observe. He had multiple hiding spots―most in trees at the edge of the village―where he could see the attacks and the defences of both sides. It was after a year or two of this strange habit that he had come to the conclusion that the dragons attacked for food and nothing else.

It was a popular belief of the Vikings that “Dragons are the spawn of Loki!,” or “Dragons are heartless lizards that rejoice when they cause us pain!,” but in the end, Hiccup had concluded that dragons had no natural hostility towards Vikings. Unfortunately, when a Viking stood between it and food, they would attack ruthlessly. Hiccup had often observed the dragons acting in ways that didn’t seem to match their intelligence―or what he believed their intelligence to be. He had seen dragons act intelligent and compassionate at times, and downright suicidal for no reason at others. There was some missing piece that he just didn’t have.

Hours passed. The sun peeked over the ocean’s horizon, and the wave of dragons receded. Berk’s inhabitants made some last sweeps for fire or stragglers, then returned from the beds they had been dragged from. It was a bright, vibrant morning, but the village air was stagnant with the smell of dragon blood. Nearly every Viking slept as if they had been drugged, and for a short while, the village would be nearly silent.

Hiccup, on the other hand, worked hard at the forge. Gobber had taken him aside and given him the job of lookout while the psudo-chief could get a few hours of sleep in the back room. In return, Hiccup was given some fresh dragon materials from the raid―not much, but it was enough to experiment with. In reality, Hiccup had no reason to accept―he already had procured a whole dragon’s worth of scales and claws. However, Gobber was one of the few people Hiccup wholeheartedly and honestly cared for on the island. Hiccup couldn’t bring himself to turn down the wish of his friend.

Since he was in the forge and had nearly a full free day, Hiccup began building a new creation. It was too dangerous to begin developing the tail out in the open for obvious reasons―the foremost being that he needed the tail to build into. Instead, he began experimenting with some other concepts that he had developed in the process of visualizing the tail. 

One such concept he had approached was tension. He had used it before, like with the springs in the dragon-trap that had removed Toothless’s tail. But now, he thought of it smaller, more dexterous. Bows were an excellent example of such tension. However, they were rarely used by “true Vikings” as they were considered weak and cowardly. Most Viking children learned to use it, but against dragons, they were almost completely ineffective. In the end, they were left unused.

Hiccup felt differently about archery. He felt that it was an art that required intelligence and strategy―neither of which Vikings were particularly skilled in. Hiccup, however, was different from an average Viking―in fact, he didn’t even consider himself a Viking. The two-handed version of a bow was the natural, original way to use it, but Hiccup had set himself a goal to modify and improve it.

For multiple hours, Hiccup worked with wood and metal and bowstrings. He turned away people searching for Gobber and made polite conversation with Fishlegs when he visited. He scrapped flawed models and improved others, looking for accuracy and speed and power―refusing to settle any of the three points. He lost himself in his work.

Some hours after noon, Gobber stumped out from the back room. Yawning, he approached Hiccup. “How’s it goin’, lad? Make anythin’ worth keepin’?”

“Maybe. It’s not finished yet.”

“Well, make sure no one else gets wind of yer tinkerin’, eh?” Gobber chuckled, “I don’ want to be the one yer daddy yells at when he gets back.”

Hiccup chuckled back. “If you say so, Gobber.”

Gobber left to help deal with the after-effects of the raid, and not long after, Hiccup also left. He walked between houses and in dark alleyways to make sure no one would catch him and force him to help repairs. After a quick check to confirm that the teens were all busy assisting, he slipped off to the forest. 

Today was a perfect midday to complete the first test of the machine-tail. Most of it had already been assembled, it just needed to be inserted into the tail. The raid simply could not have come at a better time. 

It took nearly twice as long as usual to get to the cove, since Hiccup was weighed down by the various items he had to bring: the basket of fish, the wool and leather, and the Zippleback materials. Finally, once he had gotten down into the pit, he approached the dragon.

“Hey, Toothless! I brought you something!” He grunted as he placed the basket on the ground and kicked it over, fish spilling out of it. The Night Fury uncurled itself from the mouth of Hiccup’s cave and slunk over to the pile of fish. Sniffing at it, he nosed his snout into the fish―then drew back with a strangled screech. Hiccup jumped in surprise.

Toothless gestured towards the pile of fish, and Hiccup moved to inspect it. He moved aside a salmon, and an eel slithered out, dead and cold. Hiccup raised his eyebrows in surprise―eel was a rarity for Berk. He grasped it and lifted it into the air.

Toothless screeched like a banshee, and Hiccup nearly dropped the eel back into the pile. Turning to stare into the dragon’s eyes, he was shocked to find them dilated and pulled into slits. His teeth were bared and he was looking more fearsome than ever before. Hiccup backed away and tossed the eel even further back, and only then did Toothless calm down.

Looking backwards at the striped eel, Hiccup scratched his chin. He shrugged and moved it to the back of his mind, looking forward at the tail.

The first step was clearly to move the tail to his cave, where he could hollow it out and begin the process. Hiccup wrinkled his nose at the rancid smell of meat as he walked up to it, then wrapped his arms around it and lifted. 

After four different orientations of this method, Hiccup decided that it was too heavy for him. A larger, buffer Viking could likely lift it, but even with the toned muscle wrapping Hiccup’s body, he couldn’t get the massive tail off the ground. Moving back and breathing a fresh breath of air, Hiccup scowled and decided to roll it to the mouth of the cave. He walked up, planted his feet, and heaved at the side of the tail.

After a few seconds of straining with all his might, he decided to stop and re-think the problem. Even if the tail was surprisingly heavy, there had to be a way to bring it into the cave, right? Hiccup glanced over at Toothless, gulping down one of the last fish from the basket; Hiccup looked away and shook his head―he couldn’t try and get the Night Fury to help as he prepared to carve up its own tail. 

In the end, the  _ real _ first step was to bring his tools out to the middle of the cove. With Toothless padding around the cove aimlessly, Hiccup began cutting out the meat of the tail to make space for the machinery. It was meticulous, boring, and most of all, extremely delicate.

Hiccup’s machinery could never account for the entirety of a dragon’s tail, just like how Gobber’s many prosthetic hands could never be as perfect or as useful as an actual hand. The solution to this, of course, was to re-use as much of the original material as possible. There was a surprisingly small amount of machinery needed; instead, wires and thin poles of metal connected muscle and machine. Losing himself in his work, Hiccup integrated piece after piece into the increasingly complicated muddle.

Nearly two full hours later, Hiccup clicked the last piece into place. He wiggled each protruding piece, then stretched out the tailfins and scratched his chin. It wasn’t what he had hoped, but he was still impressed by his own work. “Toothless!” he called over the massive black dragon wandering around.

Toothless trotted over, cocking his head in curiosity. He made a purring noise, then glanced at Hiccup―questioning and intrigued. Hiccup, on the other hand, was surprised how well he understood what the dragon was attempting to ask him: ‘Well? Does it work?.’ Hiccup grinned.

With wide motions and multiple repetitions, Hiccup explained as well as he could to the dragon how the tail should work. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how much Toothless understood, or exactly how well the tail would perform. Thus, the last problem presented itself.

To re-attach the tail to the dragon, Hiccup would have to fasten a sort of harness that would wrap around it and keep it snug. Unfortunately, to ensure that it was fastened, he would have to touch the dragon at great lengths―and Hiccup hesitated. Even if it was necessary, he didn’t want to overstep his bounds and be attacked―or even worse, break down the bonds of trust he had worked so hard to build thus far. Toothless stared at him, wondering what the holdup was; wondering why Hiccup hesitated.

Hiccup took one of his sketches and flipped it over. On the back, he drew an approximation of how the tail would be connected, and what they would have to do to put it on. He talked quickly and rather nervously, since the idea of touching a living dragon in a non-aggressive way seemed somewhat alien. Thus, Toothless clearly understood Hiccup’s aversion to his method of connection.

Toothless bent down, the tail’s stump twitching. In a different context, it may have been humorous to see a dragon with its rear in the air, but all Hiccup could see was the muscles tensing and releasing. The very muscles he had cut in two with his ‘genius mind.’ He looked away for a moment, then looked back, meeting Toothless’s eyes. The dragon gestured to the tail, then gestured at its stump. A short growl slipped through its gums, and for the first time, Hiccup understood exactly what Toothless wanted―clearer than a sunny day.

Hiccup led Toothless backwards to line up with the tail, whispering prayers and calming words―for him just as much as the dragon. Holding his breath, he let his hand rest on the Night Fury’s back as they walked back, Hiccup sliding the harness around Toothless’s legs. It was surprisingly cold, and he could feel muscles shifting underneath his scaly black skin. Hiccup let out a breath, and tightened the buckles around Toothless’s midriff. The dragon squawked in discomfort, but then wiggled his body―all of it, including the tail.

The moment had come. Hiccup backed away and smiled―the tail seemed receptive to the tiny movements that Toothless made, just like it was supposed to. Hiccup prodded the tail in a few places, then prodded where it connected to the dragon’s body.

“That’s it.” Hiccup said softly. Toothless’s head swiveled to look at the boy, and the boy smiled back. “That’s it! You can fly now, it should work just like I built it.” Hiccup made a shooing motion at the dragon. He felt both proud and disappointed that he would get to see his new friend leaving.

Looking back one last time, Toothless opened his mouth in a crooked grin. Then he leapt into the air―inky blackness on a midday sky. First, he glided around the cove to adjust to the new movements of his tail. It wasn’t as accurate or as precise as his original tail, but it was amazingly close. It meshed well with the ragged edge of his wound, and responded well to his movements. Even the weight was close to perfect. He flew up in one wide, lazy loop, then swooped down, skimming the lake. Suddenly, he felt a shifting, heard a click, and nearly dive-bombed into the water with a strange new functioning of the tail. With a powerful rush of adrenaline, however, Toothless’s wings launched him into the sky, and he glided off, away from the village, deeper into the wilderness of Berk.

Hiccup shielded his eyes from the sun and watched this all, sighing as the dragon’s black silhouette against the sky disappeared. “ _ Will we ever meet again?”  _ he wondered; Hiccup hoped so, but knew that this could only be a temporary friendship―a dragon and a human on Berk. He stood in place for a bit, then turned and walked to his cave. Why not spend just a bit more time working on his bow-modification before returning to town?

Barely ten minutes pass with Hiccup tinkering with his bow mechanism, however, before he heard a noise behind him. He smiled, placed the bow on his workbench, and turned around, with a smug: “I guess you just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Astrid’s unamused face met Hiccup’s, and he choked on his voice as it came out. He stumbled backwards and attempted to take back his blunder. “Um―I mean, hi Astrid, hi...Astrid…”

She raised an eyebrow and stepped into Hiccup’s cave, looking all around at the sketches and gadgets he had lying in piles on the ground or hanging on the walls. She turned back to him, clearly exhausted―a full night of defending the town from dragons could take the most out of even the stoutest Vikings. 

“Just who did you think you were talking to? Your so-called ‘teacher’? Someone else? You’re obviously hiding something else.” There was no humor or civility in her voice, it was pure venom and accusation.

Even with his silver tongue, Hiccup couldn’t think of a fitting response in time, so he answered: “well, I was just talking to myself…” He winced at how stupid of an answer it was. Staring at Astrid, he watched her eyes narrow.

“I watched you kill a Zippleback with a knife like it was nothing―that’s not something just some training helps with! You would need years of hard, rigorous fighting experience, and everyone on the island knows that you couldn’t get that! You’re just...you! You had better explain, Hiccup!”

Hiccup was taken aback―he hadn’t expected such an outburst―but he understood why she was so furious. She was watching her spot as the strongest teen be stolen from her, and she couldn’t understand why. He stepped backwards and tried to think of what to say; Astrid stood still, her fury practically steaming off of her―her eyes never left Hiccup’s.

Finally, Hiccup gave up. There was nothing he could say to convince her one way or another, and even if he told her the truth, Toothless had already flown away―the truth would be harder to believe than a lie. There was no way out.    
  
Hiccup straightened his back and steeled himself. He stared deeper into the ice-blue eyes and frowned, then shook his head. “Leave me alone, Astrid. Do you think you’re my teacher? Do you think you can protect Berk from anything and everything? You don’t  _ need _ to know anything―I’ve been finished with your ‘training’ since the first day. There’s nothing for you here.”

Astrid paused, then responded angrily. “Hiccup, this is your last chance. Tell―”

“No Astrid.” He stepped forwards, putting his face right in front of hers. She caught her breath in surprise. “Leave. Now.”

Her heart thumped in her chest, and she felt an inexplicable pressure closing in on her from every side. Hiccup’s cold eyes were half of it, but behind them, something much larger wanted to be let loose. Attempting to rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling, she stepped back and threw a punch―aimed right at his jaw. It never reached him.

Instead, Hiccup swiveled on his heel and grabbed her arm, then flipped her over his shoulder with what seemed like the barest of effort. She slammed into the uneven stone ground and choked when the air inside her lungs was forced out. With difficulty, she got back on her feet.

“Get out, Astrid.” There was no joy or anger in his voice. Simply disinterest.

“Like hell I will.”

In the following beatdown, Astrid punched, kicked, and swung her axe at Hiccup in every way she knew how. To her dismay, not even once did she hit him with a substantial attack. He moved like a snake, and just as quickly as she threw an attack at him, he would send her spiraling into the ground. In the end, it had been perhaps five minutes before Astrid gave up―pummeled into the ground, hot tears running down the sides of her face at her own ineptitude. Hiccup hadn’t even directly attacked her once.

“Get out, Astrid.” Hiccup repeated, just as uninterested as before.

She got up silently, retrieved her axe―it had been knocked away sometime during their scuffle (if you could even call it that)―and climbed out of the cove. She silently vowed to never return―at least, not until she could fairly beat Hiccup. She slowly walked back to the village, massaging her aching body.

* * *

Hiccup walked back to his workbench, and sat down. With an exhale that shook his whole body, he escaped from the trance. Even though evening was near, the cove was still well-lit―but this was the first time he had used it twice in a day, and both times for such a physically taxing. His body was tensed and uncomfortable, as if he was seasick.

Nevertheless, Hiccup felt pride―he had successfully taken the power from his enemy. Whomever this controlling power came from, he hadn’t heard the strange, raspy voice that originated from his soul. Ever since the very first night so long ago, when he had killed the Shadow and unlocked this power, the voice had whispered in his ear. But finally, the voice had gone silent, ever since Hiccup had stolen the idea of reusing the tail. Hiccup smiled, even through the pain.

He stood, and collected the pieces of his bow-contraption. Stuffing them into a bag, he stretched and left the cove. On the way out, he picked up the eel as well―perhaps there was some worth in keeping it.

* * *

The setting sun set Berk alight with golden light. Hiccup walked out of the forge, where he had stored his ongoing bow project, and shielded his eyes from the blinding glory of the light. Walking up the main road of the town, Hiccup heard Viking songs being sung in grand revelry. Looking to the side, he saw the Great Hall, overflowing with celebrating women, children, and the few men who hadn’t sailed off to find the nest.

One of the things that tied every Norse community together―whether it be a giant country or a small island town―was the lust for celebration. Contests, birthdays, or anything in between―if it was worth celebrating, it was worth making it a great occurrence. Today, Hiccup guessed, it was to celebrate another successful defense against the raid. There were many people with bandages, but no somber faces, and no faces missing.

In a rare moment of uncertainty, Hiccup considered going in, mingling with his peers (the ones who didn’t actively try to kill him, that is), and enjoying the crowd. He scratched the back of his head, however, and decided to leave. He wouldn’t be missed in the undulating mass of bodies.

As he turned away to leave, a relatively skinny arm draped over his shoulder. “Hiccup, pal, don’t tell me you’re leaving! Come on in, enjoy the insanity, eh?”

Hiccup’s head swiveled in surprise, and he came face-to-face with Tuffnut, a wide grin spread upon his face. Hiccup smiled weakly, then replied, “I don’t know Tuffnut...I’m really not feeling it tonight.”

“Suuure. You never are. Come on in, I got a new chess set for defending against the dragons, and I need an alibi for when Gobber finds it.” Tuffnut chuckled and dragged Hiccup into the Great Hall, ignoring both his protests and his questions about the nature of ‘it’ that Gobber would be finding.

* * *

Hiccup sat across from Tuffnut, with a beautifully carved chess set in between them. They talked with each other as they began swapping moves, but even though they had sat far from the bonfire―the center of the revelries―the noise was still overwhelming. There was a crowd forming around an arm-wrestling contest, a hearty group of women at the barrels of mead that had been stacked, and the greatest mass of people packed around the bonfire, swapping stories and laughing with each other.

Hiccup absentmindedly listened to Tuffnut in front of him, but also strained his ear to listen behind him. Gothi (the village elder, chief healer, and religious leader) had long ago taken an oath of silence―as to hear the voices of the gods clearer. She communicated through scratches in the dirt, and always had at least one student with her to translate. Of her many students, there were three who were likely to inherit her position one day. One of those was Astrid’s father: Erick Hofferson. Another such student was Tori Ingerman, a kind, soft-spoken relative of Fishlegs’s. She was the one translating Gothi’s scratches this night.

While an unofficial title, Gothi was also the village storyteller (although Gobber often grumbled that he was more deserving of the title). Through her students, she told the myths and legends brought forth by the gods. Hiccup had always been mesmerized by the stories as a child―even now, he subtly attempted to listen. Tonight, it was a story of the creation of the world. 

Tori’s thin, reedy voice seemed to carry even over the noise filling the great hall, and although most of her small crowd was comprised of children, she still spoke as if it were a holy reading―a steely undertone holding her voice strong.    
  
_ “―and Allfather, Odin himself, fought alongside his two brothers, Vili and Ve, against Ymir, the fearsome frost giant. For the Giants were the creations of chaos, and they were ever at odds with the Gods, fighting on even ground. Odin, then, struck Ymir to the ground, and he laid in a pool of his own blood―dead. With Ymir’s skin…” _

Hiccup captured Tuffnut’s queen with a knight, and Tuffnut frowned in irritation. Surprisingly enough, it was not Fishlegs or Hiccup that was considered the greatest chess player on the island―it was Tuffnut. Currently, his defenses were being dismantled by Hiccup, but in most games, he dominated quickly and intelligently. His strategic mind simply had no match among the teens―and even most adult Vikings were hard-pressed to beat him.

“Y’know, Hiccup,” Tuffnut drawled, his fingers crawling through the air above the board. “You’re impressively good, but you have a certain flaw.”

“What would that be, Tuff? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re the one losing.”

_ “―ravenous wolves: Skoll and Hati. They chase the sun and moon, even to this day, in the hope that they can swallow these bright jewels of the sky, plunging us into eternal darkness once more…” _

“Well, you’re not particularly subtle―at least, your plans aren’t. No matter how much you work to trap someone else, if they see it coming, you’ve lost.” Tuffnut moved a knight, putting pressure on both a bishop and Hiccup’s queen.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, and moved to take the newly-unprotected knight. “Hmm, sure. Anything else, Tuff?”

_ “―Odin, Hoenir the bright, and Loki―before he had been corrupted, of course―created humankind out of wood. They were hewn into humanoid shapes―as we were created in the god’s image―and they gave us life. Odin gave the gift of soul, so that we could live forever in Valhalla; Hoenir gave the gift of motion, to fight for our lives and for our gods; Loki gave the gift of blood, so we would bleed red and live…” _

“Well, another thing would have to be how overly confident you are in yourself. Just because you’re smart doesn’t mean someone isn’t smarter, right?” Tuffnut pushed a pawn forward―a clever defense, but not impregnable. Hiccup moved his queen down the board, barely two moves from ending the game.

“If you say so, Tuff.”

_ “―the great Yggdrasil Tree, which was rooted across three of the nine worlds. The first root was in Midgard, the land of humans. The second root was connected to Jotun-heim, the land of the giants. The third laid down in Nifl-heim, or hell. Underneath this root, however, there was the great dragon of chaos and corruption, Nidhogg. It eternally gnawed at Yggdrasil’s root until the day the tree is destroyed, and Ragnarok comes crashing down upon us. For the day the tree died, so would the gods…” _

“The last thing, Hiccup, is that―while you certainly are smarter than me, and can out-plan almost anyone―you’re not good at figuring out your opponent’s plans. Especially if someone’s hiding their intentions,” Tuffnut moved a rook in a long, lazy line to Hiccup’s end of the board. “You’ll just eat it up while they’re plotting against you. Checkmate!”

Hiccup’s eyes bulged, and stared at the board. It took him a moment to realize exactly how he had lost, but once he realized, he leaned back and groaned. All the time he had been taking Tuffnut’s pieces, he was leaving his own defenses wider and wider open. Tuffnut had baited him into a completely defenseless position, even as he was telling Hiccup straight to his face.

“Had you been planning that since the beginning?”

Tuffnut chuckled, “of course not. Chess is a game of strategy, but no one can think of every possibility. But of course,” he said in a smug voice, “leading someone into a trap is much easier. Johann even told me that people in far-off lands use chess as a strategy board.” 

Hiccup rolled his eyes. He got up from the table and said goodbye to Tuffnut―it was now a dim twilight, and he planned to get back before the night fell completely dark. Gothi and Tori had already left after finishing their story, so he had no more reason to stay. Walking to the entrance, a large group of Jorgensons clustered in front of the Great Hall, doting on Snotlout. Seeing Hiccup coming out, Snotlout spoke up, making sure he was loud enough that Hiccup could hear.

“That’s right! I even worked together with Boarlout and my dad to kill a Zippleback! We haven’t even trained against a Zippleback yet with Gobber, so I suppose I’m just extraordinarily skilled! First place is obviously mine, wouldn’t you all say?”

Hiccup ignored his boorish half-cousin, and edged around the clump of admiring young teens and adults. Standing in the middle of that crowd, Snotlout’s ego puffed up more and more, and he walked inside with them all. Hiccup had avoided his gaze, and to Snotlout, that was proof of weakness. Hiccup walked the opposite way, however, with a small smile that told no secrets to Snotlout or any other Viking.

He arrived at his house as the last rays of light disappeared from the sky, an orange glow peeking out from under the front door. He walked in, and took a moment to bask in the difference in temperature from outside. The chilly evenings that were nearly year-round on Berk were something that no one ever seemed to get used to. 

Hiccup tore off a hunk of bread and dipped into a now-cold bowl of soup that he had brought from the Great Hall. He dug into the meal, having not eaten since midday. He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to find Astrid.

“Hey Astrid.” Hiccup said with a food-filled mouth.

She looked his way, but to his surprise, said nothing. She grabbed a hunk of bread, a small slice of smoked meat, then left without saying a word. Hiccup felt uneasy―every night previously, she would bombard him with questions and accusations, but tonight, she couldn’t have cared less.

He shrugged off his unease and finished his meal. He went up to his room, fell on the bed, and nearly fainted from exhaustion after the long day.

―

The six teens stood in pairs, noxious gas separating them.

It was the morning after, and they were training against a Hideous Zippleback. Gobber shouted down at them from his vantage point things like: “today is about teamwork!” and “work together to find the fire-breathing head!,” but his advice fell on deaf ears. Since the beginning of training, Snotlout had barely gone five minutes total without talking about his skill in the previous day’s raid, Astrid had barely spoken five words to anyone, Fishlegs kept muttering numbers and stats, and the twins would not stop their petty pranks on each other. Hiccup had begun to wonder if the Tuffnut he had been speaking with the previous night was some kind of doppelganger.

He heard Snotlout yell through the gas, heard a splash, then heard Ruffnut yelling back at him. Hiccup heard various indistinguishable noises through the smog, and then Tuffnut ran past him, yelling, “Oh I’m hurt. Oh I’m very much hurt!”

“Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits now…” squeaked Fishlegs, gripping his bucket in a bear-hug. Hiccup lowered into a deep stance and stared into the quickly thinning gas. He saw a silhouette moving within it, and he held the handle to his bucket tightly.

One head swiveled out of the gaseous cloud and cackled at Fishlegs. He yelped in fear and attempted to back away―and in what looked like more of a nervous spasm rather than a controlled movement, he splashed water on the head that was nearing him. It seemed surprised, but then blew out a bright green cloud of gas at Fishlegs. 

Once Fishlegs had deserted him, Hiccup stood alone in front of the two-headed dragon. He felt somewhat annoyed at the incompetence of his peers, but ignored them all standing behind him. He watched the two heads swaying back and forth, and locked his eyes with the left’s. The right head had terrorized Fishlegs, so the left had to be the sparking head. Hiccup leaned back, then sprung forward, smashing the bucket into the left head. Water splashed everywhere as the bucket broke on the dragon’s skull.

“Hiccup!” cried Gobber worriedly. He stepped forward, but stopped, not wanting to enrage the dragon further.

Hiccup landed right in front of the now-enraged dragon, reaching into his vest to grab his knife. Instead, he grabbed a squishy, slimy rope; in his surprise, he jerked his hand out and swung it near the dragon. Instead of ripping off his arm, as he had been bracing for, the dragon’s heads screeched and backed away.

Pressing this newfound advantage, Hiccup pushed his hand forward and walked slowly towards the Zippleback. It backed away just as slowly, until it had nowhere left to run. Hiccup simply stood in front of the thick wooden door, then closed it slowly. The door locked behind him, and he walked out of the arena, not sparing a look at his peers or anywhere else.

* * *

It wasn’t long before trouble found him. Snotlout, this time flanked by three of his Jorgenson cronies, caught him in an overshadowed alleyway not far from the forge. Hiccup was, although faster than any of them, caught quickly in the narrow pathway. His sack of half-made bow-creations was thrown to the side roughly, and he was held fast against the wall.

“What the hell was that in the ring, Haddock? Are you trying to fight me? Show me that you’re better?” Snotlout picked up a wooden rod with a blackened end, probably a spear or an axe that had been torched in the raid. He walked forward and growled: “Remember this, you absolute wretch. You will never―be―better―than―me.” He punctuated every word with a swing at Hiccup’s ribs.

Hiccup tried to yell for help, but one of the Jorgensons’s meaty hands clapped over his mouth. Hiccup simply sat, and took the beating―or he seemed to. In reality, if they had looked into his eyes, they would’ve seen the dead disinterest that came with his Trance (as he had named it accordingly). After nearly twenty full minutes of Snotlout’s abuse, they let him fall to the ground, with his ribs and arms aching and purple. As they left, Hiccup released the Trance and rasped, “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Snotlout. Just you wait.”

Snotlout didn’t even take the energy to turn his head back. He simply laughed, then swiveled to throw the rod at Hiccup for one last hurrah.

Luckily, Snotlout’s aim was terrible.

Hiccup limped to the cove. Even though he had been in the trance during the beating, that didn’t mean the pain disappeared. He swore to Odin, Thor, and every other god he knew in hopes that they might kill Snotlout, but he heard no thunderous smite, so he assumed his prayers had fallen on deafened ears.

Finally, he arrived at the cove. He climbed to the bottom, and dropped his bag at the entrance of his cave. He stepped in, and sat on a chair he had made, massaging his body. Suddenly, he jumped up―there had been movement inside the cave. Hiccup leaned down and took a knife out of his boot, then peered into the darkness of his cave.

The darkness smiled crookedly at him in a toothless grin.

Hiccup paused, then smiled back.

  
  



	10. Revising the Plan

Hiccup absentmindedly doodled on a piece of parchment while he pretended to listen to Gobber. All six of the teens were crammed into the backroom of the smithy, listening to Gobber lecture them about each dragon in the dragon manual. This had been going on for the last two hours, and none of the teens, not even Fishlegs, were focused anymore.

  
This unusual extra lesson was because of, as Gobber had so delicately put it, their “pathetic excuse fer teamwork in the last session.” Currently, Snotlout was attempting to prop his eyes open and the twins had pushed their desks together to play chess on a tiny board they had snuck in. Even Astrid and Fishlegs, the two teens who would be expected to pay attention, barely seemed awake. Ever oblivious, Gobber droned on. No matter how well he trained in the arena, his lectures were amazingly dull.

“An’ the Thunderdrum, well, that’s just a hell of a dragon, eh? I remember back when Stoick an’ I were wee lads, an’ a Thunderdrum went berserk right in the middle of the village. Well, ye see…”

Hiccup attempted to tune Gobber out, and tried to think on his newest problem.

_ “Toothless! I’m glad you came back!” Hiccup exclaimed. He walked forward as the dragon came out of the darkness of the cave. He went to put his hand on its snout, but it bounded forward and licked Hiccup’s face, leaving a gooey mess of slime. _

_ Hiccup was disgusted but still laughed. A few minutes after _ _ ―with various attempts at completely getting the saliva off―Hiccup really took time to look at his dragon friend. _

_ The tail was crooked, moving unnaturally, and the cover he had made for it to stay in place was nearly torn to shreds already. His heart dropped like a stone. _

_ “Oh gods―Toothless, when did this happen? Are you alright?” he hurried over and examined the tail, and although he felt like an idiot for trying to talk to to Toothless, he hoped his message had gotten across. The dragon just wiggled its tail in what seemed to be discomfort. Hiccup helped him slide it off, and quickly went to work seeing if everything worked properly. _

_ Little things here and there were out of place, but the majority of the tail seemed to work as it was made to. Eventually, Hiccup concluded that it was the fault of the sleeve he had made to keep the tail on. It was imperfect, but it was the best thing he had been able to create. Now, he would have to make something even better. _

Hiccup sighed in annoyance. It had been hard enough to make the covering, but now that it had gone south, he needed to find a foolproof method to connect the tail. 

“An’ of course, kill it on sight. Go for the eyes, the tails, the wings―a downed dragon is a dead dragon, y’know.” Gobber’s voice brightened noticeably when talking about killing dragons. Then, unfortunately for the teens, his voice dulled once again. “Next, of course, is the Monstrous Nightmare…”

Hiccup scribbled out his latest sketch, this one attempting to tether the tail to the legs and have Toothless control it remotely. His eye twitched from a combination of lack of sleep and annoyance. He leaned back and groaned. Draped over the back of his chair, he turned his head just in time to watch Tuffnut checkmate his sister. Hiccup caught his eye, and Tuffnut grinned in an annoyingly gleeful way that only he could.

Hiccup laughed silently and smiled back, then hunched back over his journal. After straining his mind for a full morning, he was drained. He dropped his pencil and sighed, then looked forward at Gobber lecturing away at the front of the room. Hiccup’s face dropped in boredom.

To be fair, it hadn’t been a completely fruitless morning. Gobber had had to drag most of the teens out of their beds before the sun had risen. Fortunately, Hiccup had already been in the smithy at this time. After a sleepless night, Hiccup always found solace in the sawdust-ridden, metal-smelling building, and that was exactly what had happened. In result, he had finished his creation (which, upon completion, he had named a crossbow). It could be loaded and prepared long before firing its arrow. The two finished products were laying behind him in his bag.

“An’ finally, the Night Fury. We don’ know damned Odin’s arse worth of anything on this beast, but if ye ever find yerselves against it, Thor bless yer charred little remains. Anyway, that’s the end of the book. I hope ye learned something that’ll make ye less pathetic in the ring, eh? We’re back to training in a few days.” Gobber yawned, then walked out the door into the smithy’s front room. The teens all shook themselves out of their collective stupor, then got up to leave.

Astrid left first―cold like the Berk air. Ever since their fight in the cove, he hadn’t heard her say a single word, other than clipped answers to questions directed at her. It felt somewhat eerie, but it was a welcome change from the unending pestering she had been bothering him with these past few days.

Hiccup moved to walk out next, but Snotlout interrupted his path, elbowing him in the ribs. Hiccup winced and fell against the wall, and Snotlout sneered. He walked out as well.

“You feeling alright Hiccup?” Ventured Fishlegs. He and the twins approached Hiccuphim, and heHiccup stood up as straight as he could.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing unusual.”

“It does seem a bit unusual, though.” Said Ruffnut, with her hands on her hips. “You’re kinda scrawny, but in the ring you’ve been much more impressive than you used to be. Just a little tap like that shouldn’t have sent you against the wall.”

Hiccup was surprised―he hadn’t realized that the other students had been observing him this entire time. Fishlegs and Tuffnut nodded in agreement with her, and Hiccup silently chuckled. “It’s fine guys, I’ve just had some tough times. I got roughed up a bit somewhere, and I’m feeling tired. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Was the rough treatment from Snotlout as well?”

Hiccup turned his head towards Tuffnut in surprise, and the blond trickster nodded―his face completely devoid of any smile. “You’re not the only one who’s had problems with Snotlout in the past, Hiccup.”

Hiccup looked at the three teens, then finally caved. “You’re right, it was him. I never knew he did it to you three, though…”

“Well, not me” sniffed Ruffnut. “He’s too careful for something like that. He wants his reputation to stay stainless with the ladies.” She raised her eyebrow in a meaningful way, and Hiccup chuckled.

“But for the rest of us, he doesn’t care. It’s just hard to stand up against him, since the Jorgenson family is the largest on the island.” whispered Fishlegs. “We never even would’ve thought he was antagonizing you as well. Is that why you’re always going into the forest around midday?”

Hiccup stayed silent for a bit, then answered, “that’s part of it―I train as well.” He was apprehensive speaking about where he went during the day, but the three of them didn’t press him.

They talked, but the topic of their conversation was slowly lost. After a while, they all went their own directions; Fishlegs went to explore Gothi’s small library, Ruffnut left to halfheartedly finish her morning chores, and Tuffnut stayed behind a bit longer. Between the four of them, there was a new camaraderie that hadn’t existed before―and a newfound collective hatred for Snotlout. It was a comforting thought.

“Hiccup, you said that escaping Snotlout is ‘part of it,’ but what else is there? I can’t help but think that there’s more to your story.” Tuffnut said in a quiet voice once the other two had left. Hiccup turned to him and put a quizzical face on.

“Well, like I said, I train. And you know how I make strange things in the smithy, so―”

“Hiccup, come on.” Tuffnut interrupted him, startling Hiccup just the tiniest bit. “You can’t tell me that that’s all it is. You’ve fought better than Astrid these past few weeks in the ring, and from what I can tell, Astrid hasn’t even spent enough time near you for it to count as any training.” He frowned a bit at Hiccup, then continued, “You may be the smartest Viking on this island, Hiccup, but I’m smart too. I can tell that you don’t trust me.” Tuffnut walked toward the door, Hiccup following a ways behind. “I won’t pry, but I am curious. Tell me sometime, won’t you?”

Hiccup opened his mouth to say something, but Tuffnut was already gone. It was strange for him, seeing a side of Tuffnut that wasn’t his usual goofy, prank-playing self. Hiccup even felt a bit threatened by Tuffnut’s gaze―seeming to see right through Hiccup’s lies.

Walking through the door, Hiccup yawned a wide, toothy yawn. With his lack of sleep, he hoped he would get the chance to do anything productive. Nearly stumbling over his own feet, he began to make his way to the cove.

* * *

Acting like an excited pet, Toothless practically jumped on Hiccup when he returned to the cove. Hiccup wasn’t sure if it was legitimate affection, if the dragon was simply revitalized after the chance to fly again, or even if it was simply well fed after its day out. Whatever the reason, however, it was a welcome change from the normally suffocating intensity of Viking life. Even Hiccup’s exhaustion couldn’t dampen Toothless’s happiness.

After greeting Toothless, Hiccup walked off to the front of his cave―where he had left the newly re-broken tail. Looking it over, there was nearly nothing wrong with the tail itself, it simply hadn’t been able to stay attached through all the stresses of flying. Hiccup was not amused, but he was still impressed, in a way. His invention had worked―or, the design he had stolen from his own alter brain had worked. Hiccup thought on this for a second, then shrugged and smirked. “Semantics.”

Ironically, Hiccup was having complicated second thoughts. In the beginning, he had approached the dragon out of curiosity and the hope that he could meet another creature with the same intelligence as him. After that, he had begun to plot, weaving one of the most feared dragons in the surrounding islands into his plan to overturn Berk. 

But he had spent time with the dragon, gotten to know it as a friend and an equal. It would be unethical, not to mention underhanded, to drag the dragon into an internal fight of his own. He had created the tail, and set the dragon free―and they had gone their own separate ways. 

Except that wasn’t the end of it. Toothless had come back, energized and thrilled to see Hiccup. It was a thought that Hiccup had come to consider: what if Toothless now considered the cove his home? What if he kept coming back, even if the tail wasn’t broken? He thought on it, and if that was true, then what about his plan to overthrow Berk? If Toothless was both Hiccup’s friend and a resident of Berk (albeit an unknown and unwelcome one), would he fight with Hiccup?

He shook his head. It wasn’t productive to let his mind rest on unanswerable questions―he had work to do. He yawned widely before beginning the procedure of disassembling the tail―half-awake was a terrible state to be in while working with machinery, but he pushed through. Toothless watched curiously, and Hiccup took the dragon’s mechanical tail apart, taking the greatest care not to tear the muscle left inside.

It may have been tedious, but Hiccup found solace in it. Machinery always had a calming effect―whether it was the tail, the crossbow, or one of the multiple other ideas that he had compiled while rebuilding the tail. Pieces went where they were supposed to, each piece had a specific, unique role, and no piece went unused. He could remove himself from the real world―where people roamed the earth like a maggot-infested fruit, trying to find the place they belonged.

His thoughts dwelled in darker places as he calmly took inventory of which pieces seemed to have worked, and which needed replacing or redesigning. To his surprise, most of the tail seemed to have worked perfectly―his pride was misplaced, since he hadn’t personally come up with the design, but he felt pride regardless. He laid out on a sun-warmed rock, picked up his journal and his crude pencil, and began amending his blueprints.

After an hour of sketching, Hiccup felt drained. He had barely eaten anything since morning, and he hadn’t slept well to begin with. Nevertheless, that hour had been all he had needed to finish revising his sketches―although making some new pieces for the tail would undoubtedly take a bit longer. He stood up and scratched Toothless’s head. It was a lovely Berk afternoon, albeit a bit cold. Any other day, he would’ve stayed in the cove, perhaps explored the area around it with Toothless, but not today. Gobber had threatened to ban Hiccup from the smithy if he didn’t help sharpening the weapons and tuning up the tools. In Gobber’s words: “It’s an apprenticeship for a reason―ye’ don’ jus’ allow yerself to come in and out as ye’ please.”

Therefore, Hiccup left. Toothless seemed disappointed to see his friend go, but he settled down in the midday sunlight and rested. Without a functional tail once again, he was stuck in the same predicament as he had been just a few days prior. 

The rest of the day was uneventful and boring for Hiccup. He spent his time in the smithy, hammering away at pieces of metal. He made small talk with Gobber and spoke briefly with Gobber’s only other apprentice that hadn’t left on the hunt for nest (a tight-lipped woman who seemed to dislike Hiccup for no reason). It wasn’t a bad way to spend the day―in fact, there were times that it would be a nearly perfect day―but if he had no chance to work on any of his projects (the tail or his own personal interests), then it was rather dull. Not to mention his head, with a throbbing headache. He blamed the lack of food and sleep.

The day ended eventfully, although Hiccup decided not to be part of the revelries. One of the Jorgenson children was having a birthday celebration, and Snotlout was one of the centermost figures in the crowd. Hiccup decided not to throw himself into the jaws of the beast, and instead walked up the path to his house. 

Approaching it, he noted the orange glow slipping underneath the door―the fire was lit inside. It was still a rather unsettling thought that Astrid’s personality had changed from an outgoing (albeit aloof) training princess to a cold, angry shut-in who barely spoke. As far as he knew from what he had heard, Astrid had almost completely withdrawn herself from social activities and dedicated herself to her training. While it was a disturbing thought that he could’ve been the reason for her abrupt change, he didn’t have the energy to think on it. He walked in the door and ruffled through the pantry for something to eat. 

Astrid sat at the table, but her eyes were cold and uncaring. She barely even seemed to recognize that Hiccup had entered the house. She simply kept sharpening her axe, and although it seemed to be plenty sharpened, it was sharpened more and more. The firelight reflected off of it, shining on the walls and the floor. The light illuminated the carved eyes on the wall from when Hiccup had been possessed. He had scratched most of them out, but some remained, like an ever-watchful god, judging their impurities.

Hiccup turned away from the pantry, finding nothing he particularly felt interest in. After a full day of work, for some reason, he still didn’t have much of an appetite. He glanced at his housemate for a moment, then nearly had the breath knocked out of him from the pressure that he felt. When he locked eyes with her, he saw a pure, undiluted anger―and he felt a connection, not because he hated her, but he also felt the same way towards others, like Snotlout and his father. Something deep inside both of them twitched uncomfortably, and they looked away. But the connection lingered.

Hiccup left to go to sleep for the night. He was exhausted, but his eyes seemed to be glued open―he read a herbology manual for a while, then laid down to rest.

* * *

It was one in the morning. He decided to visit the smithy to calm his restless mind―he had gotten some sleep, but it had been erratic, and almost as tiring as staying awake. He left his house―the embers of the fire glowing orange as he walked by―and gulped down a breath of crisp, cold air.

Walking back down the mountain, he passed the Great Hall. It was the dead of night, but the Vikings of Berk (those who were still on the island, at least) seemed to never sleep. The celebration from earlier was still ongoing―in fact, it seemed as if it hadn’t even hit its peak yet. Even through the haze of exhaustion, Hiccup chuckled to see drunken men and women singing together, some half-drunk Jorgenson’s betting articles of clothing in a game of poker, and Tuffnut sitting outside the hall beating what looked like his third victim in chess. Tuffnut waved, and Hiccup waved back.

Another thing he was not too tired to witness was Snotlout, sauntering away from the partying hand-in-hand with a pair of women. The black-haired boy’s gall was impressively large, Hiccup had to admit. Demanding that he stay away from Astrid while simultaneously spending nights with various women―without even attempting to hide it. Hiccup was unamused at his hypocrisy, and his ribs ached in assent.

As he walked towards the smithy, the sound of revelries faded into the distance. He felt slightly disappointed, as he always did. The massive celebrations that would last all night were a Viking tradition, and Hiccup found it massively difficult to enjoy them like anyone else seemed to. Even when he took the time to attend these parties, he left quickly and unexpectedly. This was only one reason he found it difficult to connect to people in the village, but when you added that to all the other things that made him the antithesis of a Viking, one could see the issue. 

Arriving at the smithy, Hiccup yawned so wide that a bit of drool leaked out of his mouth. He wiped it away and sat down at one of the tables; he put one hand on his head to soothe his pounding headache, and used the other to pull some papers towards him. He began sketching an idea he had imagined while disassembling the tail: armor that―instead of fitting someone’s form exactly―left extra space for wool, sponge, or another impact-reducing material. It was only one of his many recent ideas, but it was the most thought-out idea so far.

A gaggle of Jorgensons passed the front of the smithy, paying attention to nothing but themselves. Any other time, they would not have bothered Hiccup, but today (or tonight, as it were) they seemed to hammer at his head with their noise. He knew it wasn’t purposeful, but he gripped the edge of the table and gritted his teeth, holding himself back from running out and hurting them. Every word, every burst of laughter seemed to be broadcasted straight into his skull; a mallet striking his aching head.

Hours passed. At times, he nearly drifted off; others, his eyes felt like they burned when they weren’t open. He didn’t feel well, but at the same time, he felt numb to his discomfort. As the sun rose, Hiccup finished a drawing and placed it on the top of an impressively large pile of paper―some crumpled, some not. 

Gobber walked out of the neighboring house. He never seemed to have a consistent place of residency―whether it be the back room of the smithy, the neighboring house, or the Great Hall (where Gobber could often be found after a long night of drinking). He walked past and, seeing Hiccup inside, poked his head in.

“A bit early for any of yer projects, innit? Ye kids need yer sleep, now, and ye aren’ looking yer best.”

Hiccup raised his eyebrows in exhaustion and replied, “I had another bad night, Gobber. I’ll make sure to get caught up.”

“If ye say so. I hope yer daddy comes back soon―I need my beauty rest, and waking up early to be Chief is hard as all hell.” Gobber walked off to do his duties, and Hiccup stood up to leave as well. He shuffled through the pile of paper and picked out the best sketches, then shredded the rest. He folded the keepers into small squares, placed them in an inner pocket, and left the smithy. 

* * *

It was midday, and Hiccup felt just as bad as he had in the morning. He was hungry, but had no appetite. He was exhausted, but didn’t feel tired. He felt like a wreck, and the sunlight beat down on him. 

He walked down to the harbor―Johann hadn’t arrived at the island yet, but on the route he had been traveling on he would likely arrive in the next day or two. The harbor stunk of fish and ocean, but he stayed for awhile anyway. The stench helped wake him up, and he bought a fish off of one of the fishermen. He’d roast it later―he knew he’d need to eat something soon. Otherwise, his body might begin to shut down.

Leaving the harbor, he walked up the wooden ramp to the village. His arms were shaking with fatigue, even though he hadn’t done anything strenuous. He felt drained.

He looked forward and saw the absolute last person he wanted to run into: Snotlout. There were people around, so he wouldn’t attempt to injure Hiccup as he often liked to, but Hiccup still felt nervous. He wouldn’t survive a confrontation with Snotlout in his current state―tired and weak. He hated the feeling, but it was a reality he couldn’t shake off in the moment. He ducked his head down and hoped Snotlout wouldn’t notice him.

As he walked past Snotlout, the larger boy shouldered past roughly with an “out of my way, runt!” It was a stroke of fortune, if he had to be honest. If Snotlout had noticed him―

He had celebrated too soon.

A meaty hand grabbed the back of his vest, pulling Hiccup backwards. He swiveled around and nearly fell over, only to come face-to-face with his rival for the chief’s position, Snotlout. “Oh hey,  _ runt _ ,” He drawled, “how are you?”

Hiccup looked around anxiously. To outside eyes, it would look like two dragon-training students talking―and Vikings didn’t think highly of those who called out for help. He was safe from a certain amount of brutality, but he still didn’t feel safe.

“Hello, Snotlout. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Hiccup wanted to keep the conversation short, and to leave quick. He was already edging his way up the ramp, but Snotlout put his arm over Hiccup’s shoulders.

“It’s a lovely day, my dear cousin.” Hiccup’s eyebrows moved together at the ‘cousin,’ but it could be vaguely accurate. They were related, but certainly not that closely. Regardless, Snotlout barreled on. “I can’t help but notice how you tried to slip past me just now―I hope there’s nothing wrong, is there?”

Hiccup forced out a laugh. “Oh no, I’m just tired. I have somewhere to be, though…” 

Snotlout laughed as well, and it was just as forced as Hiccup’s. “Ah, sorry for interrupting your day, cousin. I’ll be off, and let you go about your day.” Snotlout slapped Hiccup’s back with unnecessary force, then stepped forward and sneakily jabbed a knuckle into his ribs, in the exact place he had beaten upon two days prior. Snotlout started to walk off, then looked back smugly. Hiccup, breathing heavily and almost falling to his knees, looked up and met Snotlout’s eyes.

And inside, something snapped.

Snotlout laughed and walked away, and Hiccup nearly threw a knife at his head. He had plenty in his vest. A cold, dead anger filled his head, and he barely knew what was going on around him. He held himself back, however, and limped up the pathway. It was past midday by this point, and Hiccup wanted nothing more than to get away. Not caring whether people were watching or not, he ran into the woods and barreled through the brush.

After a bit of mindless running, Hiccup calmed down. Everywhere he looked, he felt eyes watching him. He couldn’t see anyone following him, and he heard nothing―not the wind in the trees or even his footsteps―but he felt as if he were being watched. His breathing became thick, and the world began to swing around him.

* * *

Hours passed, and Hiccup wandered through the forest, attempting to shake the feeling that he was being watched. He felt it wherever he walked; nowhere seemed to be safe. His eyes burned, looking bloodshot and strained. A foul taste pervaded his mouth, and he spat a glob of saliva onto the ground. 

Hiccup’s stomach growled, and he looked longingly at the fish he had bought―it had only been a few hours ago, but it felt like ages. He had planned to cook the fish, but by now it felt like a pointless hope. He bit into the stomach, then swallowed―barely chewing, not even spitting out the bones. It was disgusting by any standard, but after nearly two days of minimal eating, the disgust was a mere whimper in the back of his mind. 

He bit into the fish again, then once more. The dizzy, nauseating feeling had begun to fade, but with that absence the feeling of being watched only grew stronger. He looked around, but even now that his sanity seemed to be regained, he saw nothing. He dismissed it as nerves―two nights without sleep did terrible things to people.

The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, but Hiccup decided to move onwards to the cove. After the exhaustion from the last two nights, he might as well take as much time as he could to work on the reconstruction of the tail. Remaking whatever gears and rods needed replacing would be a hassle at his own forge, but it wasn’t impossible. He recognized the area of the forest he was in; it would be only ten minutes at most before he arrived at the cove.

A crunch reverberated through Hiccup’s jaw, sounding like a pile of dried leaves late in the year. He jumped in surprise, and his eyes moved to look down―even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see his own mouth. Instead, he saw his hand holding half of the fish’s head. He spat, and the other half fell to the ground. He was more confused than disgusted―how had he not even realized that he was still eating the fish? Even the scaly tail, the bones, the innards―all of it was gone, aside from the head. “I really must be going crazy.”

Finally, he arrived at the cove. 

Toothless jumped at the chance to greet Hiccup, but then rooted into the dirt. He smelled the strain on the human―a smell consisting of sweat and a grimy adrenaline. If he was to barrel into Hiccup like he had the day before, he might injure the poor boy. Instead, he settled for getting his head scratched. 

Hiccupe went to work. After twenty minutes of pumping the bellows, ten minutes of isolating exactly which pieces needed to be remade, and five minutes of collecting the necessary metals to create them, he begun. With his forge-suit on, he looked like a madman―a bipedal, scale-ridden beast, creating miniscule machines to recreate a dragon’s tail. Any self-respecting Viking would consider themselves proud to kill him, then present his corpse to one of the various shrines on the island―appeasing any of the war-savvy gods, like Thor or Tyr.

He worked until the sun went down, and the star-sown dome of the sky covered Berk. Fitting, re-fitting, and then testing to make sure it was correct. While he was immersed in his work, he barely felt the weighty fatigue of the past few days―but when he stepped away, it fell back upon his shoulders. While he worked, the village, Astrid, his father―all of it was far away from him, and they could not bother him. When he worked, it was simply him and his machines. And Toothless.

It was far later into the night than he had planned to work, or had ever worked before. It was near midnight at least, possibly past three. The light from the forge sent long shadows across the cove, and Toothless slept fitfully through the moving light and hammering metal. A long silence finally fell upon the cove, and Hiccup walked into the darkness to insert the last piece of the tail. Finally, it was finished once again.

He didn’t have a concrete idea of how to connect the tail (with his previous idea turning out to be terrible for a long-term fix). That, however, did not matter in the moment. Instead, Hiccup turned to see two wide, friendly eyes staring at him from the darkness. Hiccup reached his hand out to scratch Toothless’s head and smiled when the dragon pushed his head into the boy’s hand. Even when they couldn’t communicate, and had been brought together by twisted and mistaken circumstances, he was glad to have someone by his side.

“I’ll try and find a new way to fit the tail, Toothless. For now, get some sleep.”

The quiet air seemed to amplify every word he whispered. Toothless whined in approval, then licked Hiccup’s hand. In retaliation, Hiccup wiped the saliva on the dragon’s snout. Hiccup left soon after he extinguished the forge, leaving his friend to rest quietly.

The village was quiet, and the watchtowers were lit. It was a peaceful night, and while everyone knew that the dragons wouldn’t attack for at least another two weeks, rules were rules―the village watch stayed alert.

He snuck through the darkness and arrived at his house. Based on the shoes at the door, Astrid had been training in the woods for a long period of time. Based on the sharpness of her axe leaning on the table, Astrid had spent another hour or so sharpening her prized weapon. She would be asleep at this hour, but the fact that he had arrived home so late would not go unnoticed by her. Hiccup didn’t care. He slogged up the stairs and fell onto his bed. He rested.

But he still could not sleep.

* * *

A Gronkle slammed its head into a barricade, sending Fishlegs flying. It swiveled in the air like a bumblebee, then began to fly lopsidedly into the wall as the remaining five teens made a loud, raucous noise with their shields.

The twins slipped underneath its sights and hid―close enough to Gobber that they would be safe from a direct assault, but far enough away that Gobber himself hadn’t noticed. Astrid edged to the side and hid behind another barricade―this one safer than the one Fishlegs had thrown himself behind. Hiccup kept hitting his shield, circling the Gronkle. Snotlout copied Hiccup, but a few feet behind him, with his unsportsmanly intent blatantly obvious to all.

The Gronkle charged at Hiccup and Snotlout, and in return, they both dodged. Or―more accurately―Snotlout dodged, Hiccup jump-fell to the side in a way that could be described as a dodge. The two of them ran from the beast, and it chased them around the arena. As soon as Gobber’s view was blocked, Snotlout roughly shoved Hiccup into the wall.

Any other day, Hiccup could’ve dodged the assault. Today, he was tired, hungry, and barely able to stand on his own feet. He slammed into the wall and―as Snotlout ran farther from the dragon―the Gronkle attacked the easier target. Hiccup put his left arm up to protect himself, but he knew it would be an ineffective defense. His right arm, consequently, was in his vest, gripping the eel-skin handle of his newest knife.

He never had the chance to use it. As the Dragon bit down on his arm, three things happened simultaneously. Firstly, Gobber, in a surge of strength he usually saved during the actual raids, leapt forward and hooked the Gronkle’s tail, pulling it backwards. Secondly, Astrid―with the same silent fury as ever―threw her axe into the neck of the beast, loosening its grip on Hiccup’s arm. Thirdly (and most unexpectedly), Tuffnut ran, slid underneath the Gronkle on the slick arena ground, and stabbed upwards with his spear into one of the few weak spots of the Gronkle, a chink in the armor where its neck met its stomach. The spear sunk to its hilt, and the Gronkle fell to the ground underneath the barrage of attacks that it had just received.

Hiccup, breathing heavily, stared at the half-dead body of the Gronkle in front of him as Gobber rushed towards him. He looked around, then the blacksmith barked orders at the other students. “Astrid, get Gothi! Fishlegs, get a cot ready in the smithy! Ruffnut, Tuffnut, help me lift Hiccup!” Gobber, even in unexpected situations, was like the eye of a typhoon, an unmovable iron stake in the ocean. “Snotlout, don’ you dare move an inch―I’m watchin’ ye!

Hiccup looked down―his arm was clearly mangled, but he had seen worse. It was punctured in multiple places―thick, oozing punctures from the Gronkle’s teeth. He looked up at Gobber through a haze of pain and half-consciousness. The old man noticed, and smiled a lopsided smile with significantly less teeth than a regular smile. “You’ll be fine, Hiccup. Gothi’s healed worse than this. Sleep, lad.” Gobber put his good hand on Hiccup’s head, and his body relaxed for the first time in three days.

* * *

**Something endless and shapeless moved.**

**Hungry.**

**It tried to eat, but there was nothing but dirt and roots in this dark prison.**

**I’m hungry.**

**It gnawed at the walls of its prison eternally, trying to find the end to an endless cage.**

**So, so, so hungry.**

**Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungry―**

* * *

Hiccup jerked awake with a ringing sound in his ear and something in his mouth―an iron taste pervading every crevice of his mouth. He looked down, and saw the blood rushing out of his bandaged arm. It was scratched and ripped where it bled. With a wrenching feeling in his gut, he spat. 

A raw, dark red chunk of meat hit the ground with a wet squelch. It was obviously part of his arm. He fumbled his way out of the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thump, and retched. In a strangely rational part of his mind, he recognized the wood grain of his floor.

He heard the thumping of footsteps, and in a moment of panic, grabbed the chunk of his arm that he had spat out. He threw it underneath his bed and attempted to cover up the gash he had created in his own arm. Suddenly, Gobber, Tuffnut, and Tori Ingerman barged into his room all at once, all yelling and making such a fuss that he couldn’t understand what they were trying to say.

Tuffnut regained his composure first. He stopped, took a deep breath, and grinned at Hiccup―even though he could undoubtedly see the blood dripping from his friend’s arm. Tori stopped yelling by then as well, and shut Gobber up with a quick punch to his shoulder. The three of them looked down at the chief’s son―haggard, skinny, and blood dripping from his bandaged arm.

The next hour flew by in a daze for Hiccup. According to Gobber and Tuffnut, Snotlout had been punished with 24 hours tied to a tree―without food or sleep. It was an unusual and overall humiliating punishment, but with Gobber as both pseudo-chief and the teens’s teacher, no one could argue with him. Unfortunately (or to some extent fortunately), Hiccup had slept nearly 20 hours, and thus missed most of the larger boy’s disciplining. His catching up on his sleep would no doubt explain why he felt so refreshed, although the news of Snotlout’s punishment certainly played into it as well.

While he was hearing the stories of the day before, Tori had been resetting his bandages. There was no shortage of grumbling, as she couldn’t believe he had broken through “some of the thickest, stoutest bandages on the island,” but she did it regardless. Because of this, he had the chance to see the wounds that Gothi had treated the day before―they were gruesome, but his arm was in one piece. As she began to put the final touches, Gobber left to tend to the village. Tuffnut seemed like he was about to leave, but Hiccup gestured for him to stay―making a flimsy excuse about replaying their game of chess. He stayed, making small talk with him and the healer, setting up a board. Eventually, Tori left as well―although not before threatening him with extreme bodily damage, should he rip his bandages again.

Hiccup laughed lightly and assented. Appeased, Tori left.

Turning to the chessboard, all traces of flippant happiness drained off of his face, leaving only a grim fear. Tuffnut, seeing this, leaned forward. “Hiccup, what’s wrong? Is it Snotlout?”

“I couldn’t care less about him. Something bigger is inside me, and I can’t stop it. I...I’m scared that it’ll  _ eat _ me, Tuff.”

The blond teen put crumpled his forehead as his eyebrows moved together. “Eat you? Unless you’re dealing with a horde of dragons―”

“No, Tuff. It’s something big. I don’t know what it was, but I saw it while I was asleep. It’s the reason I bit a chunk out of my arm, it’s the reason I didn’t sleep or eat for days...I can’t do anything about it.”

“Wha-” Tuffnut’s eyes widened and he leaned back, trying to process this new wave of information. “Wait. You did that to your arm? You bit through the bandages? How- no, what―?”

“Tuffnut, listen.” Hiccup looked him right in the eyes, the steely determination apparent. “I’ll explain everything tonight. I still need some time to recover and repair, but we’ll do it tonight. Can you meet me outside the forest tonight, ten o'clock?”

Tuffnut stared back, and nodded sternly. Then, his usual carefree smile crept back onto his face. “I’ll push my household duties on my sister. She owes me anyway.” He stood and clapped Hiccup on the shoulder. “You’re looking rough, buddy. Rest up, alright?”

Hiccup smiled thankfully at his friend leaving. The door swung shut with a clatter, and Hiccup sat back, relaxing his tense body. It wasn’t an amazing surprise, but it was surely a relief that that Tuffnut had at least agreed to meet him; but whether he would accept what Hiccup had been doing was a different story altogether. If he did, well, he would gain one more ally. If he didn’t...Hiccup’s time on Berk would be cut to an abrupt end. 

He spent the morning relaxing, filling his stomach after the three-day fast he had unintentionally put himself up to, and attempting to find a solution to the issue of connecting the tail. 

It was proving to be a rather fruitless search, but he kept sketching and hypothesizing. A sleeve wouldn’t work―as had previously been proved. An adhesive would likely make more problems than fix them. Some sort of convoluted harness would likely hamper the dragon’s flight. He moved through idea after idea, shooting holes in each and moving on. The one last option that he had was one that he knew was suicide was venturing into the darkness behind his mind. After the previous few days, he was particularly apprehensive towards anything involving it.

And he was right to be uneasy. Ever since he had woken up, he had felt a very real, very intrusive hunger in the pit of his stomach, like an endless chasm of starvation. For the first time since the night of its inception, it was tangible, akin to a hand around his throat. Hiccup breathed a heavy breath, clammy and deep.

He walked outside for the first time since waking up―it was an overcast, gloomy day. He stretched in the fragile, cold air and for the first time in multiple days, felt a comfortable appreciation of his current life. Even with a strange force breathing down his neck, some of his peers with antagonistic anger toward him, and his betrayal towards the entire Viking way of life, he felt a sense of peace.

A commotion erupted towards the far end of the town, and from his high point on the mountain, Hiccup squinted down at it. He couldn’t hear much more than a faint mumble of conversation, and the people were tiny like ants, but the cause of the commotion was clear.

The raiding boats had returned, and much earlier than expected. Seeing the unmistakably bold figure of his father, his heart dropped, and the feeling of contentment fell. Perhaps things weren’t going to be as peaceful as he had hoped for them to be.

  
  



	11. Secrets Revealed

The world’s color seemed to drain into an unsaturated grey, like the overcast sky. Hiccup had forgotten the feeling of emptiness that he felt when he saw the chief over this raid, but it all came rushing back when he saw his father. No one on the island or the surrounding provinces could mistake his figure for anyone else’s. Not even the other village’s chiefs held the same amount of pride, strength, and commanding presence in their strides or in their stances.

Hiccup’s knees felt weaker than they had in the previous days ―even if he included the half-psychotic episode he had suffered from. The difficulty of sneaking out and sneaking in every night would now be tremendous, and the risk would be even higher. He felt sick.

He knew it would take hours for the boats to be unloaded and the raiders to settle back in enough for Stoick to return home, so Hiccup turned back. He retreated to his room and tried to breathe normally.  _ It really is amazing _ , he thought tersely,  _ how quickly we can get used to freedom _ .

He breathed slowly to calm himself and thought over his options. He could leave much, much earlier in the day and try to sneak back in late at night, but there was no telling how late Stoick would stay awake, stoking the fire. He could try lying to the broad-chested man as well, but he never seemed able to get the words out quite right when faced with the imposing figure of his father. Unfortunately, these two options seemed to be two of the only choices he had that had any semblance of success.

He felt both nervous and confused, now that his father had returned so early. He didn’t know how Stoick would react to his seemingly small progress in the ring, or his injuries, or the conflict between him and Snotlout. Hiccup feared what kind of reaction he might receive, and considered leaving immediately to stay at the cove all day, even though it would be nearly twelve hours of waiting to meet with Tuffnut.

He moved to sit at his desk and sketch out yet another idea regarding a specially made suit of armor for himself―this one combining the usage of dragon-scale, an impact-reducing material that he would decide on later, and a smaller version of his crossbow. Even with his left arm―and more importantly, his dominant arm―completely wrapped in gauze and wool, he was a skilled artist. He had taught himself how to use his right arm for normal, day-to-day usage like writing and eating nearly a decade ago, when Stoick had made an offhand comment on the assumed devilry of left-handedness.

A slam rattled the rafters and a deep voice shouted from the doorway: “Hiccup!”

The teen jumped, and his expression darkened. Had Gobber mentioned his performance in the ring? Had Stoick somehow heard of his projects in the smithy, or the suspicious amount of time he spent in the forest? 

Heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs, and Hiccup’s door swung open, slamming into the wall. “Hiccup!” Stoick barged into the room “Are you alright?”

“I...What?”

Stoick’s breath came in short bursts, and it was clear that he had sprinted to the top of the mountain to see him as soon as possible. “Gobber said that you had taken a rather nasty injury during training. Are you in pain? Did Gothi fix it all?”

“Oh, I’m fine, dad.” Hiccup stared at his father in surprise. He had never seen the overbearing man act like this―frightened and urgent. His intense glare was surprisingly caring for once. “It’s alright―it’s just my arm, and Tori Ingerman told me that it would just be a few weeks to heal.”

“Tell me how this happened, Hiccup. Was Gobber not paying attention? I was against your participation, but I assumed appointing Astrid to train you would keep you safe.” 

Hiccup began to realize that his father wasn’t angry at him―just worried and handling it badly. Hiccup wasn’t sure what to tell him, however―he would hear about Snotlout’s punishment sooner rather than later, and when he heard the story in its entirety from Gobber, he would just be disappointed yet again. Hiccup could argue, but without telling his father about the strangeness that had been occuring in his brain, Hiccup would just seem weak and disappointing to Stoick.

“Well...dad, you should help unload the boats. I’ll tell you later, if you want―or you can hear it from Gobber, or Astrid. I was a bit confused at the time, so…”

Stoick stood straighter, his imposing figure blocking out the light and his thick eyebrows creasing together. “I want to hear it, Hiccup. Not from someone else―you. Tell me. What are you hiding?”

Hiccup breathed a bit deeper and stared back into his father’s eyes, trying to match intensity―but falling far short. He looked down at his lap, then spilled the story―albeit a shortened and incomplete version of it, excluding most of Snotlout’s interference. When he looked back up, Stoick’s frown hadn’t deepened in the way Hiccup had expected.

“I’m more disappointed that you felt the need to hide it from me, Hiccup. I didn’t expect much―I just hoped that you would stay safe and not become a hindrance to your peers. You’d never be able to fight on the front lines, unless you stopped all...this.” Stoick’s words were spoken in a reassuring tone, but they cut deeper than a pure insult. His disinterest was apparent on his face. “I’ll leave, since you seem to be fine. And be sure that I’ll be discussing your performance with Gobber.”

“Yeah…” Hiccup sighed. He glanced out the window to see how high the sun was, then called after his father leaving the room. “I’ll be doing something with Tuffnut tonight, so don’t be worried if I’m out late tonight.”

Stoick made a noncommittal grunt, then slammed the door behind him as he left. Hiccup took a deep breath, then leaned back in his chair and relaxed his tense body. His father’s mere presence was an intense experience that could only be understood after clashing with him―in mind or in body. “Don’t be worried? Who am I kidding.” He groaned quietly.

It had been successful, however. Although it hadn’t been the initial plan, he had gotten permission to―or at least notified his father that he would―spend the night showing Tuffnut Toothless. Although Hiccup clearly hadn’t gone into quite that amount of detail, it was one less problem to worry about.

He went back to sketching. He drew small figures in differing poses, and tried to find flaws in the armor. Joints were always weak, and the face would always have a certain amount of vulnerability―but he kept refining the sleek, scaly armor. He was so absorbed in his work, he found himself three hours later and ten pages fewer. The sky was beginning to darken. Soon, he’d reveal his secret completely for the first time.

It was a strange, and not entirely uncomfortable feeling.

* * *

“It’s funny, I mention to you just once that you seem to have more hiding under the surface, and just a few days later, you’re begging to show me.”

Tuffnut drawled in a sarcastic tone, and Hiccup chuckled in return. It was a strange occurrence for both of them: Tuffnut, walking through the forest at night, minimally armed. Hiccup, having a friend and a partner to share his secret with. It was strange, but neither of them were particularly unhappy about the arrangements.

Minutes later, Tuffnut was particularly unhappy about his current arrangement.

Hiccup had neglected to tell him the distance to the cove, and Tuffnut was huffing and puffing. It wasn’t an amazing distance, but Hiccup had been taking a convoluted and drawn-out route to get there. He didn’t expect anyone to follow them, but it was better to be safe than sorry―especially if someone else happened to find out about his secret. Hiccup’s swift pace and his complicated path, however, combined to tire out Tuffnut exceedingly quickly.

“Hiccup...i’m not saying that...Ii’m tired, but...will we be there soon?” He puffed out between breaths. 

Looking back, Hiccup raised his eyebrows and responded, “We’re almost there. You should look into some exercise, though.” Hiccup paused. “Actually, you shouldn’t have an issue walking this distance just from the exercise in training.”

“Hiccup, as much as I enjoy your company, you don’t need to dumb yourself down. We both know that I haven’t trained half as much as Gobber demands. I fight smart rather than hard.” Tuffnut leaned against a tree; he reached up to snap off a twig, then threw it in Hiccup’s direction. “Let me rest just a bit.”

Hiccup snorted, then turned around and kept walking.

“Aw hell―COME ON, HICCUP!” Tuffnut yelled after his friend, jumping away from the tree and jogging after him. Barely twenty long strides later, however, he noticed a strangely open area, void of trees. It looked like just a dip in the ground, but as he moved closer, it got deeper and deeper, until in the pale moonlight, a deep hole with a shining lake opened to the sky. “Holy Odin…”

It was, in Tuffnut’s honest opinion, a perfect slice of nature. He could understand why Hiccup would never have brought others here. A flickering light shone out from a cave halfway across the pit, and Hiccup stood at its mouth. He waved to Tuffnut, and called out in a faint but echoing voice. “Right at that edge, I’ve carved a ladder into the wall. Come down!”

Tuffnut scratched the back of his neck nervously, and shuffled to the edge. He looked down, then nearly fell backwards as he felt his heart contracting. Any normal Viking life had minimal interaction with heights, but this was no normal Viking activity. Tuffnut clenched his fist―sweaty and clammy―and slid himself over the side, clinging to the chiseled ladder. He inched down to the ground, then jogged over to the cave, Hiccup sitting just inside.

“Rude to leave me behind, don’t you think?” Remarked Tuffnut as he entered the cave, sitting across from Hiccup. There was a small table between them, and a crudely carved chessboard sat upon it. Tuffnut made the first move, then looked around at the interior of the small cavern. It was cluttered―filled with metal, bone and scale productions. A warm fire was lit inside the forge, illuminating the tools and books hidden on shelves made in openings in the wall. Tuffnut was impressed.

“Oh please, we both know you were impressed when you found the cove yourself.” Hiccup grinned back at his friend, then made a move on the chessboard. “Plus, I felt the need to add a theatrical flair to the first time you arrived. It only felt right.”

Tuffnut snorted. He lifted his head up from the game, and stared unwaveringly into Hiccup’s eyes. “Hiccup,” he stated, “I don’t think that this hideaway is what you wanted to tell me, is it? Explain what you were saying earlier.”

Hiccup’s face paled, and his expression went grave. “You’re right. I should start at the beginning, though.”

Thus, Hiccup told his story to Tuffnut. It began years ago, the night the Shadow was killed, and the night the strange controller attempted to take over. His machines, his training, and his creation of his base at the cove. Hiccup explained the recent years, and most importantly, his involvement with Toothless. Tuffnut stayed generally stayed silent, both reassuring and unnerving Hiccup―but the story continued. 

“...And then, once I was able to fix the tail, I attached it to him using a sleeve I created, and he flew off. But―”

“Wait, wait. Hold on.” Tuffnut raised his hand from the chessboard (they had been continuing the game as the story was being told) and pointed at Hiccup accusingly. “I’ve stayed quiet because I don’t think you’d lie to me―and because I can tell when people lie. But a Night Fury? A real, live Night Fury? Even I’m not insane enough to believe that you would trap, befriend, and release a Night Fury, Hiccup. Your story has some holes that no excuses could cover, especially if this Toothless ‘flew off,’ like you said.” Tuffnut’s scowl somehow reminded Hiccup of the chief’s immeasurable, stubborn disagreements.

“Tuffnut, if you just listen, I’ll explain how he came back―”

“Then where was it when I looked over the cove from the rim? Come on, Hiccup―I don’t know if you’re delusional, or if you just felt the need to make up a story to impress me, but this has been wildly disappointing.”

Hiccup scrambled to justify himself, but never got the chance to speak. As he opened his mouth, a flash of blue illuminated the small cave, originating from behind him. He had sat with his back to the exit (towards Tuffnut), but to his misfortune, that meant that he would miss the happenings behind him. Behind him, in quick succession, heard a small blast of plasma exploding, a shrill scream of surprise, and a heavy impact.

Hiccup, ignoring Tuffnut’s exclamation of surprise, leaped from his seat and rushed out of the cave. He bounded out to find Toothless hulking over another teen―he didn’t take the time to process who it was, instead he jumped into action. 

He jumped on Toothless’s back, then waved his eel-skin dagger in front of the dragon’s nose. As he predicted, Toothless let out a screech and flung his body away from the eel. Correspondingly, Hiccup threw the dagger away, now that Toothless had stopped his assault, and reached his hand out toward the dragon’s snout. 

Toothless’s teeth were bared and his eyes were beady, but he made no more sudden movements. Hiccup moved closer slowly, until he was finally face-to-face with the beast. He rubbed the top of the dragon’s head until he calmed down. Behind him, however, confusion began to break out.

Tuffnut yelled something, but Hiccup wasn’t paying attention to him at the moment. The female voice behind him, however, sounded much more accusatory. “What the hell? You...What in Thor’s name?” 

“It’s your fault!” Hiccup growled to the person behind him, still not turning away from the still slightly aggravated dragon. “You must’ve scared him!”

“You’re serious? I? Scared him?” There was a pause, then the voice―noticeably more strained and angry―spoke again. “Where in the world do you get off calling that thing...a him?”

Hiccup placed his hand on Toothless’s snout, then turned with a defiant look on his face. He began to retort with “Firstly, Astrid, he’s a―” but then stopped dead in his tracks.

Tuffnut let out a low swear, then scratched the back of his head in irritation. “You definitely shouldn’t be here, Ruffnut.”

Her face showed a mixture of multiple emotions, and none of them were pleasant.

* * *

In the end, the two boys were trapped. They tried to coerce her into leaving, but she held the knowledge of the cove―and more importantly, Toothless―over their heads. Hiccup threatened her, but she just laughed in his face, saying that “You wouldn’t actually do that unless you wanted an all-out war on the island.” Thoroughly defeated, The two of them invited her into the cave.

Hiccup told his story again―fully, and with proof of a real Night Fury (he laid just outside the cave, still rather miffed). Tuffnut acted like he had before―mostly silent and focused. Ruffnut, on the other hand, asked questions and moved constantly. She fiddled with his tools, flipped through his books (although some books were quickly snatched out of her hands, being particularly brittle or dangerously explicit), and generally irritated Hiccup in little, insignificant ways. Even so, he told his story to the point where they all knew it―the training ring.

“So,” mused Ruffnut, “you have some strange, unidentified person trying to control your brain with some voodoo, but you’ve still stuck your nose in the door to try and get some ideas for mechanics? No matter how smart I ever thought you might’ve been, that was a really stupid risk, Hiccup.”

Hiccup said nothing, but Tuffnut jumped in to defend his friend. “But it was his only solution. He was trapped―if he had waited much longer, the lack of use that Toothless’s muscles would’ve gone through could’ve caused more problems!”

“Whatever.” Ruffnut rolled her eyes and examined the sketches pinned to the walls. “Still stupid.”

Hiccup looked at the twins. It was common knowledge around town that they were practically the same person―both mischievous pranksters that never had a serious thought in their minds―but he was finding that this was simply not true. They had their own quirks, and were both very intelligent. Hiccup was beginning to realize that (had they befriended each other much more soundly as children) they would’ve likely been his partners in crime.

Hiccup moved across the room and opened a chest. He pulled out some dried dragon meat, then turned and asked, “do either of you want to feed him? He’ll warm up to you much quicker that way.”

Tuffnut’s face drained of color, and weakly refused; Ruffnut, on the other hand, jumped at the offer―pulling her reluctant brother with her. Hiccup chuckled at the scene: Tuffnut edged himself away from the shadowy dragon, Ruffnut offered dried meat to it, hoping it would accept the peace offering, and Toothless, not entirely refusing the meat, but still keeping a sizeable distance between himself and the twins.

The sight of it warmed his heart. Unfortunately, he still felt guilty for the last thing he wasn’t telling the twins―his plan to take over Berk. He’d promised himself that he would tell them, but...it wasn’t time yet.

He walked over to the twins and Toothless to defuse the building tension between the three of them. He stood next to Toothless and scratched his head, then thought for a moment. “Ruffnut,” he asked slowly, “I never asked―how did you find this place?”

Hiccup expected her to act awkward or embarrassed―for her to sheepishly admit she had followed them there. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips and let out a loud laugh. “I trailed the two of you! You were pretty quiet, Hiccup, but my brother wasn’t!” Tuffnut shot an exasperated glare at her, but she ignored him. “The day I lose my nerve for something like that is the day I don’t deserve to be a Viking!”

Tuffnut sighed, sitting on a rock a short distance away. “That’s just how she is, Hiccup. She’s got more nerve than the gods themselves.”

“Huh, I never would’ve expected.” Hiccup responded. Thinking for a few more seconds, however, he realized something else.  _ She may have more nerve than anyone, but she’s certainly not a foo _ l, he thought.  _ The way she reacted to my threat earlier showed her wit as well _ . To his surprise, the infamous Thorston twins were geniuses of a different kind. 

Hiccup looked upwards, still stroking Toothless’s head. The moon was high above them, and the teen wondered how long they had stayed out in the chilly Berk air. The four of them were silent―three young Vikings and a dragon. Finally, Tuffnut broke the silence.

“So are we going to try and figure it out?”

Hiccup, a bit startled, looked at him quizzically. “Figure what out? How to re-attach the tail?”

“No―well, yes, but that’s less important.” Tuffnut’s voice got low. “I was talking about figuring out who the controller is.” All of them, including Toothless, felt a chill in the air. It was like a knife of cold wind, attempting to silence them.

Ruffnut chimed in as she moved slowly towards Toothless. She had her hand out, imitating Hiccup’s calming way of approaching the dragon. “Well, it should be fairly obvious, shouldn’t it? We can assume it was nobody on the raid, so we should try and deduct whoever was still on the island.”

The boys murmured quietly to themselves, evaluating her words. Quickly, the three of them retreated back into the cave, writing down the names of Berk’s residents, then crossing off those who were clearly not the culprit. Perhaps an hour passed as they discussed the names and activities of as many people as they could. Hiccup told all that he knew about the controller, and all he had learned.

Finally, they flipped through the final list of remaining Vikings. Gothi had been left on the list, but she seemed unlikely. Tori Ingerman had as well, but seemed just as unlikely―although she had been heavily considered. Astrid was left on the list, but Hiccup disagreed that it could be her; the twins refuted, claiming that her recent actions warranted suspicion. Finally, they flipped through the list, arriving at the last page. Hiccup’s heart sank when he saw the last name still on the list.

Gobber the Belch.

* * *

Hiccup walked through the forest in a daze. He had split from the twins just a bit ago, since their house was much farther down the mountain. As he walked, he considered whether it was possible that Gobber was the one doing all this―even from the very beginning. It could explain why there had been mechanical knowledge, but it just didn’t seem right. Somehow, no matter what evidence he found against Gobber, he couldn’t honestly believe that it was the wise-cracking old blacksmith.

It was late―past midnight at least―but when Hiccup arrived at his house, there was a dim light shining underneath the door. He opened the door quietly, then closed it quietly behind him. His father sat in front of a smoldering fire, and before Hiccup even had the chance to escape to his room, Stoick addressed him.

“Hiccup. We need to talk.”

Hiccup said nothing; instead, he pulled a chair across from his father and sat, expecting the worst.

“I spoke with both Gobber and Gothi today. They were both quite impressed with your improvements over the time I was gone.” Hiccup, surprised, lifted his head up to look his father in the eyes. “I wanted to apologize for how I lost my head earlier.” Stoick nodded at his own statement. Then, remembering something, spoke again. “Ah, Astrid is sleeping here one more night before returning to her house. I hope that her training helped you?”

Hiccup spoke quietly, and looked into the embers. It was always easier to lie when you weren’t looking someone straight in the eyes. “Yes, it was...It was helpful.” 

“I doubt you realized, but I set that up with the hope that you two would get closer.” Stoick frowned, then continued. “The girl acted rather cold to me, but I doubt she realized either. Perhaps it was some other reason.” Stoick chuckled heartily, but the humor was lost on Hiccup (who was still shocked his father thought so lowly of them. The real intention had been obvious to all from the moment it was set up). “Anyway, son, I wanted to tell you the truth.” Hiccup, confused but intrigued, leaned forward the smallest amount. “All these years, I’ve treated you harshly―perhaps gently in terms of a Viking’s upbringing, but harshly still. You are still not suitable to be chief.”

Hiccup’s heart fell when he heard this―it was never a surprise, no matter who he heard it from, but it still hurt. Stoick kept speaking. “I have two choices. Allow someone else to take up the mantle, and let you be a blacksmith. Or,” Stoick said, raising his finger, “we do something to win the majority of the town over.”

Hiccup stared at him in an emotionless daze. “So that’s why you wanted to arrange a marriage between Astrid and I?”

Stoick smiled a proud grin, which only brought Hiccup’s spirits down more. “Exactly, son. If you were to be wed to the Hofferson princess, they would undoubtedly come to support you. And, if you’ve been speaking with the Thorston twins, you may have a foot in their door as well. Those two clans alone are nearly half the island, son.”

“I...I guess you’re right, dad.” Hiccup had a complicated mix of emotions preventing him from saying anything to refute his imposing father. He moved to leave, but Stoick gestured for him to stay.

“One last thing, Hiccup.” Stoick’s face grew grave. “I’ve always prevented you from tinkering any more than blacksmithing, and I feel that I tell you more. It is true that it’s not of the Viking way―but we will someday need to move forward with the times, Thor protect us. I always stopped you because you were destined to be chief. You cannot look weak, or you will be pushed out by your own people. At least know that I did it all for your sake, no matter how harsh I seemed to be, son.” Stoick spoke in heavy, leaden sentences. Finished, he stood, stomped out the last of the embers, and retreated to his room.

Hiccup also left, but with a scowl that could frighten children and dragons alike. All for him? Bullshit. He laid in bed, thinking dark thoughts about his father, and hoping that the only other man he looked up to, Gobber, hadn’t been stabbing him in the back his entire adolescence. 

All the while, a darkness moved in his mind. It was not time to act, but it would be soon.

* * *

Days moved quickly for Hiccup after the raid returned. Training resumed as normal―his cast came off the left arm after a few weeks―and while Snotlout often attempted to pull underhanded tricks, he was always waylaid by Gobber or the twins. Astrid moved back out of the Haddock’s house, still hatefully silent towards Hiccup. Stoick hadn’t brought up a proposal again―he was likely waiting hopefully for Hiccup to be chosen―but Hiccup could tell it was on his mind. Other than that, however, Stoick seemed to care little for where Hiccup spent his time.

Most of his time, consequently, was spent with the twins, at the smithy, or at the cove. There was very little that he felt the need to do otherwise. He had been observing many of the candidates for the controller. Most had been crossed off the list, simply because there was minimal evidence. After a few weeks, only two names remained: Gothi, and Gobber.

Hiccup tried to watch them both, but little came of it. Gothi was notoriously hard to speak with, and barely left her hut. If it was possible to be a hermit in a bustling island town, Gothi was undoubtedly one. Gobber, irritatingly enough, seemed to be harder and harder to confront as well. He still oversaw training, but the time was growing thin, and soon the best student would be chosen to fight the Monstrous Nightmare. Other than training, however, Gobber had begun staying in his home most days―leaving blacksmithing work to his apprentices. Hiccup puzzled over it, and an uncomfortable feeling grew in his stomach every day.

Along with this uncomfortable feeling, he became irritable and sour. He performed as well as he had ever in the ring, but he often made rash decisions that he wouldn’t have made normally. The time he spent hammering and shaping metal helped his mood, and he often enjoyed talking with the twins. There were still times, however, where he felt one with the darkness, breathing it in―just the slightest touch from giving it control. 

It gave him a sort of high―but he told himself it was for the search. When he heightened his senses like this, he could see farther, more accurately. He would often attempt to eavesdrop on people of suspicion. He found nothing, using the darkness or not. The continuous lack of evidence just angered him more and more.

There was a cost, however.

One foggy Thursday morning, Hiccup and Tuffnut trekked to the cove. Tuffnut (still not too keen on the idea of a Night Fury as his friend’s pet) halfheartedly scratched Toothless’s head, then the two boys set into a rousing game of chess. It had become something of a habit for the two of them to play anytime they had downtime and needed to talk. Hiccup had only ever won one game to Tuffnut’s seventeen (and he suspected that his one win had been given to him out of pity), but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

During this game, they talked about the controller. Hiccup moved, Tuffnut talked. Tuffnut dragged a piece across the board, Hiccup pondered. Hiccup began thinking deeper and deeper, so much that he wasn’t even paying attention to the game. He tried harder and harder to think of something he hadn’t yet―some minute detail he had overlooked. Tuffnut said something, but Hiccup’s ears felt clogged. He coughed, and he tasted the bitter taste of blood.

Hiccup got up and stumbled to the pond. He kneeled by the edge and filled his mouth with water―washing out the metallic taste in his teeth. Standing up, he spat the tainted water out of his mouth and turned to Tuffnut. Trying to downplay what just happened, he asked, “What was that? I didn’t catch what you said.” 

Tuffnut looked concerned, but responded emphatically. “You won! You finally outplayed me completely! How did you do it?” Hiccup moved back to the small table, and found that, like Tuffnut had said, the game was over. “How did you do it?”

Hiccup couldn’t even remember the latter half the game―just a fuzzy mess. He just stared at the board, silent. Tuffnut stayed quiet as well, feeling something was off. They talked some more, but not for long, or in depth about anything in particular. After a while, noticing that something was wrong, Tuffnut left Hiccup to his blacksmithing.

Hiccup was frightened. And what frightened him the most was that he couldn’t be sure this was the first time it had happened.

* * *

Finally, the last training session came to pass. The entire village came to watch, and the clamor around the ring aggravated the dragon (this year it was a Gronkle). Bets were placed, and tensions were raised. 

Unfortunately for the town, it was a very disappointing fight. Tuffnut and Ruffnut stayed to the edges, looking for a chance that never appeared. Fishlegs was knocked out quickly, eliciting a groan from all those watching. Snotlout, Hiccup and Astrid were the only three who were seriously being considered for the final performance, and the crowd watched anxiously. 

The victor was clear to all, however. Snotlout had been training, as anyone could’ve seen, but it hadn’t made much of an impact on his skill. He barely seemed to be able to keep himself from becoming a flaming heap of muscle. He was still all bravado and not enough brawn to back it up.

So, it came down to Astrid and Hiccup. One of whom was tired from long, strenuous hours at an anvil and crafting table. 

To be fair, Hiccup had his mind on bigger and better things. His dragonskin armor was nearing completion, and if he had worn even the incomplete version, he would’ve been nearly unstoppable. It dampened physical impacts, was nearly unaffected by fire, and was built with two smaller, more compact crossbows hidden underneath his forearms. Even if he was set against all the dragons they had been practicing against, he would still have a chance of success. However, wearing it would look awfully conspicuous, compared to the other teens, all dressed in their usual battle gear (and not to mention how his father would react to his tinkering).

So, while Snotlout was busy overreacting to his minor injuries, Hiccup and Astrid were dodging through the maze of barricades in the arena. Astrid moved with a steely, anger-fueled determination towards the Gronkle. Hiccup, to the crowd’s surprise, also moved quite adeptly.

It wasn’t enough. Astrid struck faster and harder than Hiccup could. He could make excuses, of course―he was using a dagger, he was exhausted from other work, he was distracted as he attempted to avoid Snotlout. No excuses he made would change the opinions of the boar-headed Vikings.

Gobber stumped down to the two of them, standing over the Gronkle’s unconscious body―it likely wouldn’t last long after the blow that Astrid had given. He gathered them into an awkward hug and muttered, “congratulations to you both.” He then walked around the two of them to face Gothi. She stood, wrinkled and confident, above the ring, and looked down on them. Gobber lifted his hook over Hiccup’s head, and Gothi’s wise eyes bored into the boy’s. 

She hesitated, then shook her head. Hiccup feared to look at his father.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur for Hiccup. Astrid was chosen for the final performance, and the crowd rushed over her in a wave of congratulations. Tuffnut spoke quietly with Hiccup and led him away, then helped Hiccup lower himself to the ground. He hadn’t realized it, but his legs were shaking with fatigue after so much strenuous work on his projects. This fight had simply set him over the edge.

Stoick came to the middle of the ring to congratulate Astrid, the crowd parting before him. Hiccup watched silently, hoping his father wouldn’t look his way―Stoick reached out to shake Astrid’s hand, and spoke in a loud tone that no Viking for miles around could miss.

“Excellent work, Astrid. I’m glad that you and Hiccup have been getting together during this time. Thank you for assisting his training.” His words seemed simple, but the implication was heavy. Astrid just nodded back to him, either ignoring or not noticing what Stoick seemed to be saying. Snotlout was already glaring at Hiccup from across the arena; for once, Hiccup was glad that the crowd prevented Snotlout’s inevitable attack.

People began funneling out, and Hiccup was one of the first. He felt tired, sick, and didn’t want to speak with anyone for a while. His father had just set a weight upon his head, and he was worried how it would affect his life; even if Astrid rejected the marriage offer again, there was no doubt in his mind that Snotlout would antagonize him for years to come. But right now? Hiccup wanted rest. 

* * *

It was evening, and Hiccup decided that he needed to visit the smithy. He had finally decided to put an end to his confusion. Without consulting either of the Thorston twins, he planned to confront Gobber face-to-face. He hated himself for suspecting Gobber for as much as he did, so Hiccup decided to meet with him.

He walked out of his room (which he had locked himself in, avoiding his father), and slumped down the stairs. Stoick, roasting a hunk of some meat over the fire, called out to him with a grin. “Hiccup!” he chortled, in the best mood he had been in since the raid, “I’ll finish cooking this soon, so―” He was cut off by the slamming of the door behind him.

Miffed but not surprised, Stoick went back to tending the fire. “It’s all for your sake, son. I worry about you.” he murmured.

Hiccup was halfway down the mountain before he slowed down, calming his erratic heart. He knew that Stoick had meant well, but his father just couldn’t understand how different they were. They simply lived in different worlds―one of them was a Viking, one of them was a mechanic. 

Hiccup shuffled through the town, barren after a full afternoon of revelries. After the evening had ended, no doubt, there would be more partying―but now, the Vikings rested. All except two: Hiccup, walking through the town with a sour disposition, and Snotlout―rushing towards the boy with a blind rage.

Hiccup was so caught up in his own dark thoughts that he didn’t notice the beefy boy―not until he was shoved into an alley, at least. Hiccup looked up from the ground, and saw a shadowy figure in the darkness, backlit by the rising moon. He tried to drag himself backwards, but Snotlout stomped on his ankle, pinning him in place.

“You lied to me, huh?” There was a breathless fury in Snotlout’s words, and the two of them both breathed heavily. “You are a useless, scrawny,  _ runt, _ ” ―Snotlout punctuated each word by increasing the pressure on Hiccup’s leg― “who doesn’t deserve Astrid. She’s mine, and you won’t have her.”

“Listen, Snotlout. I can explain it all, but...” Hiccup’s voice trailed off as he watched the boy remove his arm-length, spiked mace from a side holster. Snotlout, teeth clenched and eyes bloodshot, lifted it into the air and swung it into Hiccup’s side―there was a wet snapping noise, and Hiccup let out a choked scream.

* * *

**A massive existence ripped at the edges of its confines.**

**It had endlessly ripped through the wicked and the ones worthy of punishment.**

**But now, it ripped out of its cage.**

**The world tree had fallen and the beast rose.**

**And it wanted to destroy.**

* * *

Hiccup found himself standing, and Snotlout on the ground―whimpering and covering his face. In the moonlight, the boy’s blood shone silver. Hiccup looked down at his hands―each held a knife, and each was splattered with blood. He tried to walk, but his lack of breath immobilized him. Attempting to breathe, Hiccup’s ribs burned with a mind-numbing pain.  _ Snotlout’s attack must’ve broken my ribs _ ―he thought in a surprisingly concrete state of mind. 

Looking down, Hiccup felt faint. There was a significant indentation where his ribs had been crushed by Snotlout’s mace. The spikes hadn’t penetrated his dragonskin-lined vest, but the impact had still ripped into the smaller boy. He stumbled over Snotlout’s quivering body―making a significant attempt to avoid the growing pool of blood―and stumbled towards the forest in a half-conscious blur. All notion of confronting Gobber had left his mind.

He struggled through the forest, breathing in erratic bursts and barely awake. He dropped the two knives somewhere on the way, and the blood dried on his hands. The cold of the night was barely felt by him―only a numbness that pervaded every crevice of his body.

He arrived at the cove―not in a calm, rational way, however. He reached the edge, then as if he didn’t see the cliffside, he stepped off. He fell into the pond like a dead man, and felt the pain rush through his body. Half of his brain screamed in protest―the other half welcomed it. Hiccup was conscious, but as he dragged himself out of the water he realized that he no longer had control over his own body. The boy stood, and blood ran out his nose; he wiped it away with a gritty hand.

Toothless, concerned for his human, crept near. It had been sleeping, but Hiccup’s uncharacteristic arrival had shocked him out of his rest. Hiccup reached out with a bloody hand towards the dragon, and as was the usual, Toothless responded by nuzzling the hand.

After a moment, Hiccup retracted his hand. Toothless’s pupils had dilated, and he no longer moved. Hiccup moved on, walking to the rebuilt tail at the mouth of the cave. With an inhuman strength that even Stoick would be hard-pressed to imitate, Hiccup hefted the tail onto his shoulder. In the nearly pitch-black darkness, he collected three long spikes of metal―then turned and walked back to the immobile dragon.

He moved behind the beast, then placed the tail on the ground. With three swift movements, he plunged the metal spikes into Toothless’s empty backside. The dragon’s body shook, but he stayed frozen in place. Hiccup―now fully aware how little control he had over his own body―lifted the tail and aligned it to the spikes. He pushed the tail into the dragon’s body, and it fit like a puzzle piece―if one was to ignore the blood gushing from the cut between the tail and the body. 

After another few minutes, Hiccup stitched together a poorly-made saddle, and affixed it around the dragon’s torso. He returned to the cave one last time to retrieve his dragonskin armor, and when he walked out, he looked less like a human than ever before. He climbed onto Toothless, and without a word, the two of them set off flying into the sky.

The full moon shone brightly―it was almost as bright as the morning’s sun. And if someone was to look at the pair―the dragon and the human―they might have noticed the strangely vertical slits their pupils had taken the form of.

So similar, in fact, that they looked nearly identical.

  
  



	12. Nidhogg

Hiccup jerked awake, and saw nothing but whiteness. The wind whipped around him, and he felt the damp air tearing at his clothes ―hands of cloud that clung to his body. His dragonskin armor was half-on, but the top half of it laid in front of him, like an empty shell.  He was saddled on Toothless, but when he tried to call out to the dragon, it made no reaction. In the foggy, clouded world he found himself in, Hiccup felt unnerved.

In this uniformly misty world, he couldn’t help but wonder where he was.  _ Am I dead? _ He wondered.  _ Am I traveling to Nilfheim, to be punished as one not killed in battle? _

Spires of stone flitted past them, but Hiccup couldn’t see them long enough to recognize their shapes. He clung tightly to the dragon and tried to rest ―his memories were fuzzy, but a quick exploration of his body revealed injuries far more grievous than even the stoutest Vikings could live through. He breathed slowly in the misty air and hoped that their flight would end soon.

An amount of time passed―it could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. Either way, the misty air began to clear, and Hiccup saw a mountain of gray ash and pulsing orange lava pushing through veiny cracks in the earth. The pure white mist began to fade, and through it Hiccup saw a swirling mass above the mountain. It looked like a huge, undulating pillar of smoke―contrasting the peaceful (although unnerving) mist.

Toothless, as emotionless as he had been the rest of the trip, began flying upwards―out of the mist, and into the smoke. As the last wisps of mist curled off of the human-dragon duo, Hiccup saw what that smoke really was. It was thousands of dragons, flying erratically and uniformly as a pillar to the sky. Hiccup shook Toothless, batted at his face and shouted at the dragon, but nothing seemed to be able to wake him from the blind stupor that controlled him.

Finally, as a last resort, Hiccup re-suited into his armor. It pained him to leave his dragon, but it would be worse if both of them died. Looking up at the smoky mass of dragons one last time, he was alarmed to find how close they were―and more importantly, that they seemed to be opening to welcome the rider and his dragon.

Hiccup gritted his teeth and jumped.

More accurately, it should be said that he slid off of Toothless. The saddle was crudely made, and it was a simple task to slide off. Landing, unfortunately, was not. Hiccup fell farther than his house was high, and he landed with an audible thump. He had landed on his feet, but one foot had been yanked in an unnatural position in the impact.  _ Maybe I should’ve let myself roll down the mountain _ , he thought, his face twisting from the pain surging through his ankle and his ribs.

* * *

**The world began, chaotic and filled with warfare. The gods on the side of the world, the giants aiming to create chaos.**

**In reality, it is rarely as cut-and-dry as the stories tell.The stories are often factual, but not always honest. History favors the victors, as they say.**

**There is always one story that is true. The story that tells of the first dragon. The true seeker of chaos: Nidhogg. My story.**

* * *

Hiccup stood, leaning precariously on his injured foot. As he looked up, he saw Toothless as he was swallowed into the massive spire of dragons. Immediately after, Hiccup began to run―a large portion of the dragons in the swarm had detached from the pack and were swooping pointedly at him.

The ashy mountain’s surface crumbled as Hiccup ran, and he lost his footing multiple times as he ran across it. Once he found a flatter, more stable area, he took two knives from his belt and turned to stand against the horde. Only then did he realize how many dragons were flying towards him―roaring in a collective rage.

They were upon him quickly, tearing at his arms and his face―but his armor shielded him from the worst of it. He tried to jump and tear at the eyes of a Nadder, but his lame foot made him miss it by a large margin. The Nadder had been chased off, but three more dragons swooped in to replace it; their teeth glistening in the dim light. Hiccup growled in his throat―irritated―and the dragons growled back.

A wave of fire blew over him from behind, and although the suit was supposed to protect from fire, it was unfinished. He felt his shoulders burning and he swung around, cutting out the tongue of a Monstrous Nightmare. As he did so, he realized how hopeless the situation was―he was encapsulated in a funnel of dragons, swirling like a tornado around him. He had no choice but to keep fighting, however, as the next dragon attacked him from the side. 

* * *

**Vikings worship their gods, just as the rest of the world worships their own. I have no knowledge of whether one religion is any more true than the next―my roots only stretch so far.**

**The gods were often just as chaotic as the giants. The only difference is that they are worshipped, while the giants are feared.**

**The stories are wrong, just as the worshippers are.**

* * *

Hiccup flung himself at the wall of dragons, and with a burst effort he pushed through it. Rushing along a flattened edge forming a path on the mountain, Hiccup periodically ran, then turned to fight back the dragons. There would be dire consequences if he allowed the dragons to surround him again, and he knew it.

Hiccup, after a few minutes of this torturous exercise, began to stumble in his steps. His suit, unfinished around the shoulders and the back, was smoldering and he was in pain. He turned to beat back the dragon horde again, but he hesitated for a moment. Not far ahead on the path, there seemed to be an opening―possibly a cave which he could hide in. He jumped―grunting in pain as his sprained foot pushed off the ground―and slashed at a Gronkle’s eyes. Then, using the Gronkle’s momentum, Hiccup launched towards the cave’s opening.

He skidded on the ash as he landed near the opening―giving the dragons just enough time to catch up with him. Fire washed over him, but it was nearly ineffective―since he was already badly burned, he barely felt the pain on his back. What hit him harder than any other attack yet, however, was a Thunderdrum’s roar. A large, green Thunderdrum was barely a meter away, and the air rippled as it bellowed. Hiccup turned―barely conscious―and threw one of his last knives into the dragon’s mouth; it choked, and Hiccup threw himself into the small, tunnel-like cave.

Breathing heavily and with pain spiking through every body part, Hiccup crawled until the dragons’ fire could no longer reach him. The tunnel was perhaps a meter high, and Hiccup sat against the edge, trying to regain his breath and his clarity.

It took a few moments for him to realize it, now that the dragon-prompted chaos was outside and he was inside, but it was truly, completely silent. It was comfortable at first, but then it became eerie. It only became worrisome once he scratched his head underneath the helmet and he couldn’t hear the ruffling of his hair.

He tested it a few more ways: speaking quietly, then at a normal volume. He tried scratching at the tunnel wall, then finally tried yelling as loud as he could―hoping he wouldn’t attract some smaller dragon to come and assault him. Unfortunately, his ears seemed to be completely dead, making all noises nothing but quiet hums. 

He lifted himself off the ground and began walking farther down the tunnel, since leaving it would be a death sentence. In a walk that was half a squat, half a crawl, Hiccup moved farther inwards. 

* * *

**One story over all, however, is untrue. One story is incomplete.**

**The Vikings tell of a time―the future, when the World Tree falls―when the gods will finally bring the world to rest, fighting their last battles. They tell of a time when I will escape from my prison and bring chaos with my brood.**

**This story is incomplete.**

**The gods and the giants are all dead. I have broken from my cage―and I feed endlessly, preparing to bring the foretold chaos.**

* * *

The temperature rose as Hiccup moved farther and farther into the mountain. The tunnel twisted and overlapped with other tunnels, making a patchwork of pathways. He had lost his way, but he knew he could escape if time was allowing. For now, he wanted to find a safe place to rest.

The humming in his ear ebbed and flowed unpredictably, and although he attempted to find the source, he couldn’t seem to find anything causing it. He often felt the ground shaking, but it was faint, like the ashy summit itself was breathing. He shifted uneasily in his suit, and kept limping along.

It was not his choice to keep the dragonskin suit on, but it would be his salvation. It was not his choice because of how it was made, and how it had melted. Parts of it were practically welded to his shoulders and back, after the fiery breaths of the many dragons who had burned him. Taking it off would’ve left him practically naked and defenseless―and it would take a good amount of his skin with it. He had finally decided to keep it on―even though it was cumbersome and unforgivingly scratchy.

It was his salvation because of its nature―form-fitting and above all, strong. As Hiccup walked down a particularly scorching tunnel, the humming began in his ear again. He ignored it, but it persisted, getting louder and louder until it was nearly unbearable. He raised his hands to cover his ears, but as he did so, rocks shattered next to him.

In the half-second Hiccup had to swivel towards the rock wall next to him, he saw a widely opened mouth, razor teeth circulating to shred everything in front of it: a Whispering Death. His mind recognized this, and in that half second, he blocked his face and his body with his limbs.

He was slammed into the wall behind him, becoming part of a rock-shredding machine that had nothing but murder in mind. He felt rocks breaking behind him as the momentum of the dragon pushed forward, its teeth ripping at his suit. The suit was resilient, however―it was well-made and would not be beaten down without a fight.

Hiccup yelled a silent scream―he could not hear it, but he hoped the dragon would. With his legs and right arm, he blocked the screaming teeth. His left hand was grabbing at his last sharp dagger―and he found it. His heart was bellowing at a frantic pace, and he stabbed the knife into the center of the gaping mouth. He aimed for what he assumed was the throat or the windpipe, and from the way the dragon reacted, it was likely that he had hit his mark. With choked movements, the Whispering Death thrashed even more wildly―but it went limp after another few moments. It fell backwards, and Hiccup fell against the wall―more dead than alive. 

His arms and legs were in tatters―his suit had protected them from the brunt of the beast’s attack, but it had given way eventually. His back felt even worse after being forced through volcanic rock, and he feared whether or not it would heal. Almost all of his suit was now on the ground, soaked in blood. Hiccup stood weakly, and looked around.

Next to him, a small hole had opened, and light was filtering through.  _ Have I come full circle to the edge of the mountain?  _ He thought, clawing frantically at the rock. After a few minutes, he had created a hole big enough for him to crawl through. With one last look at the dead dragon next to him, he slipped through.

And he arrived in Hell.

An orange light pervaded every crack of the strange, craggy land he had escaped to. He was reminded of an anthill he had once dug into in a childlike curiosity. It seemed to be endless, yet contained in its own area. It was layered and tunneled and worst of all, was filled to the brim with dragons. Hiccup froze, holding his breath like a dangerous weapon that would annihilate him, should he let it go.

None of the dragons seemed to notice him, however, and he began to venture forward, peering over the edge before him. The sight he saw was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

A dragon the size of a small mountain sat at the bottom of the smog-filled volcano. It was staring intensely at Toothless, and Toothless stared back with equal strength. It was all in vain. The giant dragon was the clear victor, and Toothless was flattened underneath the pressure.

With a movement that seemed faster than physically possible, the giant dragon whipped its head towards Hiccup. Hiccup jumped backwards, but the tremors shaking through the ground told him that he had been too slow. Claws crashed into the wall not far from Hiccup, and a giant face stared down at him. Six eyes opened, and all six of them pinned Hiccup in place.

He knew his ears were still unresponsive, but he still heard a fearsome voice slither out of the dragon and into his mind.

“ **You’ve finally crawled your way to me, haven’t you, Hiccup?** ”

Hiccup’s heart felt as if it was being squeezed, but he tried to cough out a response. 

“It...It was you all this time?”

“ **Let me use your body, Hiccup. I’ll allow you to live, as long as you give it to me freely.** ”

Hiccup felt tiny, facing the rock-encrusted beast in front of him. The sight of it made his knees shake, and he could practically breathe the ancient aura it gave off. Hiccup felt vaguely ashamed that he ever thought Gobber could’ve been the one controlling him.

“I’ll never give you my body―you’ll never have it.” Hiccup proclaimed defiantly. It was a fake bravado, and the beast knew it. “I swear to Thor himself that you’ll never control me.”

It gave a low, angry chuckle―then thrust its head forward, stopping inches from Hiccup’s face. “ **Thor is dead. Ragnarok has come and gone, and your people did nothing in the fighting. You are weak and pitiful, and your gods cannot help you. I could kill you without a thought. This is your last chance to keep your life** .”

Hiccup knew that the beast was telling the truth. Hiccup was battered, weaponless, and covered in blood―from both himself and the dragons he had fought. The beast, on the other hand, was larger than the entire area of the cove, and was flanked by hundreds of assorted dragons, flying around him in a motley swarm around its head. Toothless was one of them―flying directly over the giant.

The voice sounded throughout the cavern once more, slightly quieter and more understanding. “ **Hiccup. I know you both inside and out. I can give you strength. I know that you are no fool―give yourself over to me.** ”

Hiccup considered it. If he had to choose between death or strength, the choice was obvious. But if that strength came with a cost, or hidden lies…

“No.” It was quiet, but Hiccup said it with a certain finality. The giant beast was silent.

Then it opened its mouth wider than seemed possible, letting out an earth-shaking roar. It seemed to surpass the brokenness of Hiccup’s ears, and he heard it through the air and in the rocks around him. With the roar, the dragon bellowed, “ **You are a fool, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock! No human nor dragon disobeys Nidhogg! You will pay for your foolishness―I am already deeply rooted inside you!** ”

Hiccup felt his mind twist, and the darkness inside it rushed through the entirety of his mind. He tried to fight back, but there was no strength in his body or his mind. As the blood dripped onto the ground in front of him, he looked up into the sky. There was a small circle of hazy sky that showed at the top of the volcano, showing tiny, glittering stars looking down on him. With his last breath, Hiccup mused with a small grin, “Are the gods truly dead, Nidhogg?”

And Hiccup lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I would call the end of the first third. This is where the story will greatly derail from the main movies, and it will mark the beginning of a good amount more mythological stuff. It shouldn’t require any knowledge of the mythology, and I’ll probably add what seems necessary to know here at the bottom.
> 
> Nidhogg was imprisoned underneath the World Tree (Yggdrasil) in its root attached to Nilfheim (the land of the dead, basically). At the end of the world, it would break loose and bring chaos to the universe. It was supposedly the first dragon.


	13. Interlude

Stoick the Vast watched silently as Astrid shot across the ring. A gigantic, fireclad dragon barreled out of its cage ―fire dripping off it like a viscous honey― and rushed towards the girl. The two of them collided in the middle of the circular arena, and careened off of each other. 

Astrid was an ungodly shard of fury, moving faster and smarter than a seasoned Viking. Holding her prized axe in one hand and a glittering, flawless knife in the other, she slashed and poked at the dragon. Enraged and in pain, the Monstrous Nightmare blazed as it thrashed and twisted, swinging its claws and tail at her. Each attack was weathered ―dodged with the barest of space or deflected with a clever maneuver. The crowd gasped in fear and awe as the two creatures―a dragon and a Viking―fought ceaselessly.

In all honesty, however, there was a hush that seemed unshakable―even the wind blew quietly in honor of it. Although this was one of the most gripping fights in the history of training, Berk’s collective mind was elsewhere. Ever since a week ago, when they had lost two of the year’s most promising talents, the town had been somber and overcast.

As Astrid’s axe bit into the Nightmare’s fleshy underbelly, it blew fire wildly―but was then cut off as she slit its throat with the knife. The dragon fell slowly to the ground, still making a feeble attempt to fight, and Gobber announced the end of the fight. There was a hush over the entire crowd. Astrid was silent as well―the perfectly calm and hateful look on her face contrasting the blood dripping off her weapons. In this perfectly Viking scene, a chill moved through the crowd of hardened fighters―and none knew why.

Cheers and applause broke out, but they were muted and somber. In the previous years, a performance like this would’ve been met with wave after wave of enthusiasm. To add insult to injury, it had been years since anyone had been able to so quickly and concisely kill the Monstrous Nightmare. Killing it was rare enough to begin with. Her performance rivaled those from Stoick, Spitelout, and Gobber. But to her chagrin, the downcast mood of the town overshadowed her nearly flawless exchange.

Astrid moved to exit the ring. The portcullis was opened, and as she walked through, the crowd pushed away from her and created a path. Not one congratulated her―the sight of her face was deterrent enough.

_ Hiccup, you’re still haunting me, even in death. But I’ll surpass you, no matter what I have to do. No matter what I have to give up. _

The cold, dead anger in her eyes split the crowd, and she made her way to kneel in front of the chief’s podium, as was tradition. He stood, and so did she.

“This is a momentous occasion, let there be no doubt.” Stoick proclaimed in a weighty, leader-like tone that seemed to shake the roots of the mountains. “Astrid Hofferson is the first trainee to kill a Nightmare in four years―and with half the injuries as the previous!” Stoick chuckled, but it felt squeezed. He continued, “This test throws the best of our children into a ring, and they must fight with their life on the line. Astrid Hofferson fought, as a true champion would, with a nerve of steel and a calm mind. We must remember this and live on, as each talent eventually loses the little light that they brought to Berk.” Stoick choked on his words as he spoke, but the crowd felt his pain. No matter the unspoken rule of Vikings―show no pain, feel no pain―Berk allowed their fearless leader one moment of weakness.

He spoke more about the rituals that the trainees would go through and the roles they would be taking on, but the crowd’s attention had wavered. The same speech was given every year―the cleverer ones slipped away before they were trapped in the crowd. The Thorston twins were two of these people; Gobber was another. People began to trail off in larger sections as Stoick wrapped up his monologuing, and eventually Stoick sat back into his ornately carved seat. Astrid still stood next to him, and he turned to her.

“Astrid, how was your relationship with my son? I hoped that I could push the two of you closer, but…” He trailed off quietly.

“It was terrible.” She responded bluntly, throwing the words unceremoniously into his face. “I resented him for his weakness at first, but the more I got to know him, I hated him for his strength. It was un-Vikinglike and blasphemous. If he were still here,” Astrid scowled deeply and darkly “I would give anything to beat him.”

Stoick, surprised at the candidness of her answer, raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think that you could’ve beaten him? With such an impressive performance today, I find myself doubting that.”

“He was better than any of us gave him credit for, sir. That’s why I find it hard to believe some dragon dragged him off.” Astrid’s words seemed harmless, but they contained an underlying tone of anger and suspicion. 

The story that was being told around town was that a rogue dragon had found its way into town. It would explain the long slashes they had found across Snotlout’s face, and would explain why Hiccup was nowhere to be found―only a bloody trail that disappeared once it reached the forest. Ruffnut and Tuffnut, being his two closest friends (as well as being two of the only people who explored the forest in their spare time) led small search parties through the forests and came back empty-handed. 

Stoick’s eyes narrowed and a low hum breathed out from his bushy beard. He understood what Astrid was saying―and even if he doubted her appraisal of his son’s ability, there were still many holes in the story that was currently circulating.

“I don’t know what to do.” He admitted painfully, surprising Astrid. “It’s likely too late for me to remarry―and I’d never find another Valka, anyways. Adoption is an option, but I’d have to shape the child into a worthy successor, and who knows if I have the time left for that.” He chuckled dryly “I’m the last of the Haddocks, so perhaps it is time to pass on the mantle to the next clan. Choosing one clan over another, however, would be the same as sparking a civil war all over the island.” Stoick exhaled a loud sigh. He stood, and Astrid saw him more as a person and an equal, rather than the lordly chief that he was.

“I’m telling you this, Astrid, because I was very impressed with your fight. No matter clans or rivalries, we are Berkians. We fight together. Once I have passed, a new generation will rise to fight the waves of dragons. You will be one of the best―I can tell. Stand with Berk and stand with the next Chief, whomever it may be.”

Astrid nodded slowly, but she was no longer focusing on Stoick―she was already questioning how she could improve, how she could surpass Hiccup. 

* * *

Tuffnut Thorston watched from a far-off edge of town as dragons were beaten away. Although he was no longer an apprentice Viking, carting water to and from burning buildings, he was still stuck at a rather low position.

It was customary to place the strongest warriors in the middle of town, surrounding the flocks and fighting the dragons where they were strongest. Consequently, weaker or older Vikings were placed towards the outside―it was not considered an insult, but there was shame in it nonetheless: Ruffnut, Fishlegs, and himself were all placed near the forest edge. 

Tuffnut was miffed. But on the other hand, it gave him plenty of time to wonder what happened to Hiccup.

It had been six weeks since his friend had disappeared, and it was just as bewildering to him as it was the rest of the island. The day after his disappearance, Berk was chaotic. While he had purposely led the search teams awry in the forests―as to keep the cove a secret―even when he left to search alone he found nothing. 

The forest was as still and uncaring as it always was, growing calmly with the earth. The cove, on the other hand, was wild and unkempt when he came to investigate it. Metal, leather, and an obscene amount of blood were scattered haphazardly across half of the cove, and neither Hiccup nor Toothless were able to be found. Weeks had passed, and Tuffnut was just as confused as he had been on that first day. 

“Hey, Tuff.” Ruffnut called out to her twin as she approached. “I had a pretty wild idea.”

Tuffnut turned to his sister, raising his eyebrows. She was supposed to be protecting the southern forest edge of their clan, but here she was, half a mile from her post. He didn’t attempt to chastise her, however―she was smart enough to leave someone else in her place.

“The raid was late―like, weeks late. What if Hiccup knew where the dragons island was and he tried to attack them? That might explain why there are so many dragons today, right?” Ruffnut’s smug grin was bathed in a warm orange light, and Tuffnut stared at the hundreds of dragons swirling through the air.

“That wouldn’t make sense. If he found the dragon’s lair, he’s not dumb enough to jump right in. And even if he was, all he’d be able to do is enrage them―which would’ve made them raid earlier, not later.” Tuffnut poked holes in his sister’s hypothesis, and her smile melted off of her face.

“Do you have any better ideas, Tuff?” She snipped back, irritated.

He sighed and watched a Zippleback’s wing get torn off by a bola―Stoick’s rage was being released on the dragons in full force. “I don’t.” It was a physical pain for him to admit his own failure, but he simply couldn’t understand it. Nothing he could imagine was possibly the reality.

“Do you think that the controller had something to do with it?” Ruffnut pondered, mumbling to herself―not even paying attention to her own words.

Tuffnut jerked himself out of his mindless stupor, watching the constant barrage of the dragons and the valiant defence of the Vikings. Somehow, in these six weeks, he had forgotten completely about the controller. As he remembered, he felt as if he were trudging through a thick fog―obscuring the memories and leading him away. 

But once he waved away the fog, the memories surfaced, stunning him with how much he had forgotten.

“Holy Thor…” 

Ruffnut turned her head, but nearly got smacked in the face as her brother shot up onto his feet. She looked around in haste, thinking that a dragon had approached them in their aimless conversation; but Tuffnut grabbed her by her shoulders. “That’s it, Ruff! That’s it!”

“Wh-what?” She stammered out before kicking her brother squarely in the stomach with an angry growl. “Calm down. What’s happened?”

“The controller! I hadn’t even remembered it―but that has to be the reason that Hiccup disappeared! It might even have some control over me―how else could I have forgotten about it?”

Ruffnut watched as her brother’s wide eyes reevaluated everything they had thought of. His breaths began to deepen; a wind of clarity blew heavily through both of them as they thought similarly. Mirroring each other’s movements, they both turned towards the forest―they had work to do and investigation to re-complete.

Ruffnut moved with a swifter pace; Tuffnut hesitated, turning his head to check behind him―he did not envy the punishment that would follow if they were found missing during their first official raid. A few tentative steps slipped out, then he turned to follow his sister. It was worth the risk, he concluded, and he knew that they would uncover more information on Hiccup’s disappearance.

Hours later, however, as the sun peeked into the burning sky, they had found nothing―even less than their first attempt at searching the cove. They returned, dejected and tired―and were immediately forced to assist their family recover from the raid. 

After another four hours of half-hearted menial labor and first aid, the two of them were released. They, as well as every other Viking on the island, headed straight to bed.

Ruffnut fell asleep almost before she had gotten to her bed―Tuffnut found her kneeling next to it, mumbling about strange dreams: About a sky pillar of dragons and a fire-filled pit. Her eyes were half-open, but glassy and focused far away; Tuffnut was used to her sleep-talking―it had been sixteen years dealing with his noisy roommate. He pushed her surprisingly gently onto her bed, then moved to his own as well (moving in between their cots and avoiding their siblings―the young ones who stayed inside during the raids, at least).

It only occurred to him as he was drifting off to sleep to wonder how his sister hadn’t also fully forgotten about the controller.

* * *

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock watched as his body ripped an animalistic bite out of an uncooked meat.

It had been around seven months since he had lost control of his own body―although he was only aware of it every few days. Sometimes weeks would go by as he slept in his own body, but it moved of its own volition now. He was never sure of the time that had passed, so he would attempt to gauge it by season or by weather.

A slight comfort was the fact that he traveled almost everywhere with Toothless. The tail needed routine maintenance, and no dragon could have the same amount of dexterity as his human fingers could. While he was controlled to fix the tail, he was often conscious―and that meant that he was learning. Most of the time that he was awake was spent compiling Nidhogg’s memories―the ones that were open for Hiccup’s perusal. It was a library of mythical knowledge, topographical maps, and strange magicks. He learned about machinery that could never be built, martial arts that could twist and break the body, and a thousand different poisons that could never be found within a hundred miles of Berk. Memories and knowledge was Hiccup’s to consume.

That didn’t make him feel any less dirty.

In the first few weeks, he was aware of his own actions very often―Nidhogg’s control was spotty, flawed at times. During that time, he watched himself burn a small village to the ground, just for the sake of chaos. He crippled the survivors, then went upon his business. His body created disaster after disaster, like a child with a new toy―in fact, that was exactly how Nidhogg had been acting for those first few weeks. Slowly, excruciatingly exposing Hiccup to the pain of guilt.

So Hiccup retreated―watching from behind a veil, learning, but never fighting back. When both his and Toothless’s bodies were worn to the breaking point, he simply turned his back, hoping he would soon fall asleep for another few weeks. When Nidhogg used Hiccup’s body to steal or mutilate or kill, Hiccup closed his eyes and tried to focus elsewhere.

Hiccup saw the world through the eyes of a cruel tormenter―and while it was painful, he also began to pick up on other group’s norms and cultures. He learned different versions and dialects of Norse, and started to understand bits of other languages. He flew hundreds of miles on Toothless in every direction. He saw people working, living and thriving―dragons were nothing more than a myth, a rumor of the northern lands. 

One of the things Hiccup had looked into first was how to kill a god―a demon, in this case, but they were similar beings, he decided. His findings were both inconclusive, and disheartening. The giant beast seemed to know nothing about it, despite its knowledge and archaism. The only answer was that one god had to kill another. 

After this failure, he only searched as his selfish desires wished, isolating him from the outside world. He lived to sleep, learn, and then fall back asleep.

It was nearly at the end of the seventh month. Hiccup fell asleep, and would not wake until the ninth.

* * *

Nidhogg watched through a smaller pair of eyes as he stared down upon the glacial ocean below him. He could sense the child waking, and he frowned―still a rather alien expression for a demon trapped in hell for eternity. It was sooner than he would prefer the boy to wake―he was nearing his first objective.

His goal was to plunge the world into chaos―but the process of doing so was not so simple. Simple-minded dragons would be useful to a certain point, but there was no question that more powerful creatures would be worth thousands of those lemmings. Specifically, gods and demons.

He had searched for those nine months, after deeply and fully integrating himself into Hiccup’s mind. Finally, he had found one.

Nidhogg did not know who or what he had found. He only knew that there was something of equal power near―in this icy, wasted land. It was a sort of sixth sense, a way to communicate on a different wavelength. He flew high in the air through the cloudless sky, looking down at the landscape and trying to find a cave or island. Any privacy-seeking god would hide itself away, but could never hide itself from the senses of other equivalent beings.

“Who are you?” A deep, yet quiet voice drifted upon the wind and into the boy’s ears. Nidhogg responded through Hiccup’s body, in a raspy, dark voice much to large for one small body.

“ **I am** **Nidhogg. Whose land is this?** ”

“Nidhogg? The beast hidden underneath Yggdrasil’s root? Why have you come here?” The voice was mesmerizingly calm, but had an undertone of iron. The wind blew cold, and the air began to darken, despite the lack of clouds. Nidhogg, however, ignored these small signs of rebuffal, and growled back.

“ **It was not my intention to live trapped in a cage. I was feared, hated―but my purpose is much more―** ”

“I want no part in your mad schemes, demon. You forget that you are not the only one who has aged peacefully, hiding away underneath the world tree. I see the world through many smaller eyes like you, but I do not force myself on the unwilling. I have no interest in you and your ways. Leave.”

“ **You will regret this once I find you, you inferior being.** ” Nidhogg whispered through Hiccup’s lips, fists curling so tight that small fractures were audible. The air began to darken, and smoky black clouds began materializing around them. The dragon-human pair began to jerk about, puppets controlled by Nidhogg’s unsurmountable will.

Lightning began to shatter its way through the empty air. Tendrils of electricity spiked towards Hiccup, and Toothless fired blue fire to repel them; to Nidhogg’s shock, the lightning only momentarially recoiled. Lightning colored white and blue struck the two brainwashed creatures―human and beast.

Nidhogg felt the pain in the human’s body and the dragon’s body, but even worse, he felt it through his own body. It was an attack from another god―an attack that could harm him. It was painful, but most importantly, it was frightening to Nidhogg.

And in this fear, he lost the steely grip of control he had been fostering for the past nine months. 

Nidhogg had never been fought against by something that could match him before, and now that he butted heads with one, he realized how much power was needed. A true god’s body could destroy a mortal’s in seconds, and Hiccup was undeniably mortal―even if he was controlled by a demon.

In every dark crevice of Hiccup’s mind, Nidhogg lived―infiltrating every thought. When this lightning tore through the boy’s body, however, the darkness was ripped to shreds. It was a cleansing, holy light that healed as much as it pained. Nidhogg screamed through Hiccup and Toothless at the unseen attacker..

“ **I will kill you, painfully and slowly, you lowly maggot! I will feast on your flesh and crush your bones beneath my feet! When I regain my strength, you―** ” His voice cut off as he was purged from both bodies. Lightning crackled and snickered around the two as they lost strength, falling towards the craggy, iced scattering of islands underneath them.

* * *

Toothless watched through half-open eyes as a dark cocoon of clouds broke open. He and his human were falling higher than either of them could survive, but his body was numb. To his confusion, he could not feel Nidhogg inside of either of them, but their imminent death was more important.

Toothless angled himself gently, and held Hiccup like a child. They struck the ground, and all went black.

  
  



	14. Stranded in an Icy Wasteland

Hiccup woke to pain.

He had known pain when Nidhogg had cut and bruised and flayed his skin. He had often been awake, and he had no way to end the suffering. But no matter how many times he had watched his body break, it would heal tough. His skin had hardened and scarred, like a strip of resilient leather, or a tree trunk growing new bark. His body was strong because of it ―but this pain was deeper.

He had known pain as he grew up, working brutal days and nights in a smithy―both for Berk, and for his own gain. Hiccup was no stranger to fire, or the glowing metals that he would remove from it. What he felt now, however, seared his body more intensely than he had ever felt before. He had a strong will and a stubborn pride, but neither of those could keep him from screaming and coughing as the pain burned through his body.

He felt pain knocking inside his chest and his ribs, and felt a numb, distorted sensation in his left leg. The cold air shivered in his lungs, but the warm, comforting feeling of fresh blood kept his body from quivering in return. He opened his eyes, but a monotone grey sky blinded him―no sun, no moon, just a sky full of dark gray clouds.

_ How ironic _ , Hiccup thought,  _ that the last time I had control over my body, I was just as badly injured. _

After another second, however, he jerked himself up―or would’ve, if he had any strength in his currently feeble body. He closed his eyes―fighting the urge to slip back into the comfortable veil of unconsciousness―and searched his mind for the colossal demon.

He probed far back into where the darkness had been previously, but there was nothing―not even the slightest indication that he had been controlled. The knowledge he had compiled from the months of imprisonment remained, but Nidhogg was gone. The pain that he had amassed during their time remained, and Nidhogg had escaped, blameless and free.

Hiccup reopened his eyes, and they soon adapted to the light seeming to come from everywhere at once. He coughed a wet cough, wracking pain through his body. He coughed again, and then laid still, waiting for the pain to subside. Once it had, he dared to look down at his body, fearing what state his body would be in. He doubted he would even survive long enough to move himself from this disappointing deathbed.

Instead, however, he found himself in surprisingly good condition considering the vague memory of falling that he had retained. His left leg was twisted, angled in an unnatural position, and he felt blood bubbling out of some injury underneath the surface of his clothes, but he felt surprisingly whole for what he had gone through.

_ Maybe my body was toughened up even more than I realized while Nidhogg was controlling me _ ...pondered Hiccup, baffled. He twisted his head to the side, however, and gasped in horror at what he saw.

Toothless laid fifteen or so feet away from Hiccup, and looked many times worse than Hiccup felt. If what Hiccup felt was pain, then what Toothless was feeling was agony. At least one leg was broken, another was twisted wildly out of place, and blood was trickling out from many broken lines of scales. The dragon’s eyes were closed, but he was―at the very least―breathing. The tail was another matter, however―the machinery that Hiccup had slaved over was broken, and had ripped through Toothless’s flesh like an axe, causing many times more damage than should’ve been received.

The human rolled onto his side, his body groaning and creaking in pain, and dragged himself to the Night Fury. The blood seeping out of both mixed together, making a dark red carpet for them to rest upon. Hiccup shook the prone dragon, and he opened its eyes ever so slightly. The two met eyes, and they understood each other like brothers.

After nearly a year of being held captive under the same tyrannical ruler, the two of them went together like yin and yang. They had spoken while both under control―and while they could no longer understand each other’s words, they could still feel a connection through something less obvious. The two of them hadn’t been apart for those entire nine months, and there was a bond that had formed between the two prisoners.

Hiccup dragged himself weakly to Toothless’s tail, and forced himself to stand over it. He reached his hands into a bloody mess of dragon and machinery, beginning with the clearest pieces and working his way to the machinery obscured by blood and meat. His body had been forced to do it so many times over the nine months that it had become a muscle memory, ingrained in his mind and body.

Hiccup had, over the long months in Nidhogg’s brain, found time to understand why Nidhogg took the time to use him at all. First, he was small, dextrous, and could do things no normal dragon could―like make machinery or wield weapons. Second, his human body could be used to betray humans―befriending them then stabbing them in the back. The amount of times Hiccup had been used for that was innumerable. And finally, he was used to repair Toothless’s tail. A Night Fury that could not fly would be useless―but with Hiccup, it would be far more useful.

Hiccup pulled his hands out of the bloody mess that was the mechanical tail. With a languid movement and a wet squelch, it fell off of Toothless’s body. A clear weight of strain on the dragon seemed to disappear into the air, and Toothless groaned in a slight moment of relief. Hiccup stood and stepped back, and the dragon stood weakly as well.

For the first time, Hiccup took the time to look around at the landscape that surrounded them.

They stood on an ashy beach of a tiny island, cold and covered in volcanic rock. Small islands littered the water around them, some near the size of the cove, some as small as a few meters. All were a dark grey, contrasting the light grey sky that seemed to be illuminated from everywhere. Icy chunks floated in between the islands, forming irregular bridges, untraversable by the injured two. They were near what seemed to be the largest island. It was jagged, tall and (most appetizingly) had an overhanging rock spire that created a small, covered area, like a makeshift tent of stone. It would protect them from the wind and the rain―Hiccup didn’t know how he was able to divine the chance of rain, but he knew it was accurate. The two began to walk slowly towards the water that cut between the two islands.

Toothless hobbled ahead to the edge of the island, drinking the frigid water. Shards of glassy ice floated by, dipping in and out of the dark water. Hiccup, following his dragon, sat at the edge of the water and wondered how they would get across the water to the larger island―without freezing to death, preferably. He shivered, and his aching body groaned in return.

The two of them sat, contemplating possibilities and becoming progressively more irritated as none of the ideas would succeed. Hiccup looked behind him at the mangled remains of a mechanical tail―then turned away, knowing how pained Toothless already was. He was ashamed he even considered forcing the dragon to fly again after ripping his tail off.

Toothless, on the other hand, had momentarily given up wondering how to get across the water―and had opted towards looking for food. He limped across the shoreline, thin ice at the edge of the water shimmering with hairline fractures as it cracked underneath his weight. The water, clear as air, seemed devoid of fish or vegetation, but Toothless kept searching. Finally, almost passing it by, Toothless found what seemed to be a tree root that had pushed its way out of the ground and into the shallow water; he could smell it, even through the thin, icy skin over the water.

He moved his head down into the water to rip it out of the ground, but once he had clamped his jaws around it, the root moved, like a worm―alive and warm and frightened. It tried to pull itself back underground. Toothless was surprised as well, however, and retaliated by jerking back in tandem. The root snapped just underneath the surface, and Toothless was thrown backwards with a small chunk of root in his mouth. The Night Fury looked down into the water, and saw no remnant, as if that root had never been protruding from the ground in the first place.

Hiccup jumped at the sudden splash, and jerked his head towards Toothless. All he saw, however, was his dragon chewing on some strange grey lump―probably some fish. Hiccup was worried for a moment, then thought better of it. The two of them were both nearly starved to death―a dragon would no doubt have a better sense as to what could be eaten. Hiccup turned away, looking out over the water once again. 

Toothless swallowed the root, feeling a warm, comforting sensation as it slid down his gullet. He still felt hungry―in fact, now he felt hungrier, but he was in less pain, and walked easier. His entire body was enveloped by the warmth, and even though the water and the air were static with a frigid breath, Toothless felt alive. He moved towards his bloody, cut tail. 

Hiccup had begun to search the water for fish―after seeing Toothless’s success, he thought he could find something to eat as well. But when he heard Toothless approaching―in a much quicker pace than he would’ve expected a dragon as injured as he was―he turned to see his friend. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

But when he saw the tail, half-connected to the Night Fury once again, his eyes opened in horror.

Jumping up and rushing towards Toothless, Hiccup ignored his own injuries and grabbed at his friend, expecting to encounter blood and raw, ripped muscle. Instead, Hiccup found the tail reconnecting. The muscle fibers seemed to be sewing themselves back together―the underside of the tail was almost completely reattached, and as Hiccup watched in unbelieving shock, it kept melding together―visibly repairing. As if that wasn’t unnatural enough, Hiccup watched the gears and wires of his hard work begin to twist and contort, fusing with the reconstructing tail.

Soon, it seemed as if Toothless’s tail had never been ripped off in the first place. Hiccup was baffled, and he fumbled at the tail’s side, trying to find the hatch he had made for small repairs. To his astonishment, he found it―and looked inside the tail to find a more perfect and complete machine than what he had originally made. Somehow, Toothless’s tail had healed, and had kept its mechanical inlay―a strange mutation of living and robotic.

“Toothless...how did this happen?” Hiccup’s mind had never felt such amazement―not even when he was face-to-face with Nidhogg, a truly ancient demon from their legends. This was a different kind of amazement, however; this was a thankful, ecstatic shock. “This―this is amazing! Your tail has completely―it’s healed!”

Toothless jumped around with a similarly bright mood, and Hiccup noted that not only the tail had been healed, but the injuries that had littered the Night Fury’s sleek body―the shattered scales and clearly broken bones―had seemingly disappeared. Hiccup could barely react with full thoughts―he was simply too bewildered.

Toothless jumped next to his friend, and knelt low to the ground. Hiccup was apprehensive, worrying that he would somehow undo the inexplicable healing that his dragon had just undergone, but he tenderly climbed onto Toothless. With a powerful gust from underneath his wings, the dragon lifted into the air and drifted across the water-filled rift from their small island to the larger.

After a brief, halfhearted search of the overhang, Hiccup left a now-sleeping Toothless to go search for food. His hunger felt like a weighty ball of metal inside his stomach, wrenching at him relentlessly.  _ The first step to getting healthy,  _ he remembered with some chagrin _ , is to eat hearty, like a Viking _ . It was a statement that was often heard on Berk, and he couldn’t help but have it―and most other Berkian traditions―ingrained in every piece of his life.

He wandered along the shoreline, looking out towards the water, hoping to catch wind of some fish, and looking up towards the rocky inner island. The island itself was not large, perhaps three times the size of the cove, but it was tall, and that meant that birds or small dragons could’ve taken roost upon it. At this point, Hiccup would eat nearly anything.

An unsuccessful hour later, Hiccup began his second loop around the island. He chewed on some bland grain-like plant he had found on his first rotation, and was now looking more intently towards the rocky spires sticking towards the sky, hoping to find more. It had begun to drizzle tiny drops from the heavens, but Hiccup was hungry. Twenty minutes passed―nothing.

But then, as Hiccup looked up a particularly sharp spire of darkly colored obsidian, he noticed a crack in the rock. He climbed up towards it, and the closer he got, the more he noticed that it was deeper than it had first appeared. Standing at its base, he found a four-foot-wide crevice that wrapped down into the earth.    
  
_ This isn’t safe. I should wait until Toothless is with me to explore it _ . Decided Hiccup, looking down at the thin path winding inside.  _ As I am now, I couldn’t even fight off a particularly feisty Terrible Terror _ .

As he thought that, however, Hiccup was startled by a clap of thunder erupting from the sky. He moved into the crevice, just enough to avoid the sudden downpour of rain dumped from the grey sky. He sat with his back towards a rocky wall―although it would be more said that his legs almost gave way. He curled his legs close and rested his face on his arms, hiding his face from the world.

Now, for the first time since he woke up, he had time alone with his thoughts. He felt the pain in his legs and arms and stomach, and clenched his teeth to endure it. But more importantly, and more vividly, was the pain in his mind. Now that he was alone, he felt the guilt of burning a village to the ground. He saw the pain in a family’s eyes as they were betrayed, watching as they each were tortured and killed. He felt the pain that Nidhogg had ridden through his body, and he hurt more than he ever had before.

One memory stuck in his mind more than any other: a father cried out, helplessly, as Nidhogg pushed his son’s body over a cliffside. The father skidded to a stop at the edge and cried out. Hiccup saw himself and Stoick in the two, and wondered how Berk was, without him.

And since Hiccup was alone, no one would ever know how he sobbed, hiding his face from the world.

* * *

On Berk, there was a chief. He was known as a living legend in the surrounding islands, and was the model of a perfect Viking. He was strong as an ox and sturdy as a stone. He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas―said the stories. The truth was not quite as glamorous as that. 

Berk had its share of problems, like any other―dragons, frigid winters, and food shortages, to name a few. Stoick, however, always stood strong for his people and his island. Stoick would fight for five men, would go cold, and would go hungry for the chance that his friends and islandmates would not. No matter what challenge he faced, he seemed to break through with sheer force. 

The people who knew Stoick knew better. The solitary chief had few friends: Gobber, Spitelout, and Gothi; not many others could call themselves good friends with the chief. These few knew that Stoick had difficulties as well―they could see past his beefy facade of a chief.

Hunger and cold could never bring down Stoick the Vast, but they knew what could. The night that Valka was taken was one example, in fact, it was the first time that any of them had truly seen Stoick break. He had never completely healed from that pain. Nine months after Hiccup had disappeared, they still saw the same look in his eye as they had seen then.

They gave invisible support each in their own ways: a pat on the back, or taking one of his jobs for himself―but they knew it only did so much to ease his burden. Time moved on, unforgiving.

Hiccup’s influence had sunk deeper into Berk than he would’ve ever known. Trader Johann still waited an extra hour, waiting for his most curious customer to arrive―even when he knew Hiccup would not come. Gobber still left scraps and unusual pieces on the desk that had been Hiccup’s. Astrid trained just as intensely as she ever had, with an angry, vibrant ideal that she strove to reach. Old habits die hard, as they say.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut had their own habits as well, but instead of losing habits over the nine months, they had added more. They routinely visited the cove, looking through Hiccup’s many books and sketches, hoping that they would learn something new, something that would lead them to their missing friend. No matter how many times they went through his things, however, they knew that it was futile.

Instead, they put more effort into investigating the inner workings of Berk, trying to find the origin of the mind-numbing power that seemed to plague them. Unfortunately for their search, any hint of strangeness seemed to have disappeared with Hiccup. Gothi―who the twins had felt most suspicion towards―acted as she always had, with little connections to anyone outside the outside world. She constantly meditated, and when she was alert, her time was packed, teaching her disciples and concocting medicines for the sick or wounded. She had taken a new student (a rare occasion, although it was not unexpected after a previous chain of events) and doted on him an unusual amount. Gobber’s actions, on the other hand, had undergone a drastic change. The normally outgoing, boisterous blacksmith would shut himself in his house for days at a time, leaving work to his apprentices. Gobber had taken Hiccup’s disappearance as hard as Stoick, although in different ways. As the closest thing Hiccup had to a second parent, Gobber and the scrawny boy had forged close bonds.

The twins searched, and they changed over the nine months. No longer were they considered the outcasts in Berk’s young adult population. They changed―with the disappearance of their friend and their perusal of his small private library, they learned how to fight in different ways. As they were now, they could defeat almost any dragon native to Berk’s raids. They were as skilled as Snotlout had been during training, but more careful―less cocky and more sure of their skill. 

Life went on for all on Berk, but things had changed―even if some hadn’t noticed. Small pieces of gods and demons had worked their way into their lives―and even with Hiccup’s disappearance, Berk was still well-endowed with its own blessings and curses.

* * *

The rain had turned from water to sleet, then to a pelting hail. Hiccup lifted his weary body from the ground and trudged deeper into the cave, looking for refuge from the weather. The air seemed different from the outside―more fragile and yet energetic and ancient. He trudged on, the cold wind ushering him inside.

Halfway across the island, Toothless paced the makeshift tent of stone, wondering where Hiccup had gone.

  
  



	15. Meeting the Chained God

Toothless paced the shallow insides of the covered area underneath the rock spire. Hiccup was gone, and Toothless hesitated to leave, worrying that his human would be stranded in the rain, alone and helpless. It was not an unfounded fear on this barren, hostile island. Toothless walked slightly out into the pelting rain, then retreated, uncertainty tethering him in place.

“ _ Brother, come find me. _ ”

Toothless froze as a voice that came from nowhere was heard. He turned, then turned again, searching for the origin. The rain poured down, and after a few moments of meaningless noise from the rain, he relaxed again. He had simply been stressed, hoping to hear something that was not real , he reasoned.

“ _ Brother, come find me. I live far beneath the surface, but I must meet you. Find me. _ ”

Toothless heard it again, and for a moment, he forgot about Hiccup. He forgot about the rain, the sleet, and the island. He stepped out, and began walking in a direction. Somehow, he knew it was the right way to go.

* * *

Hiccup winced, edging along the wall as quickly as his broken leg would allow him. The more he moved, the more hot spikes of pain drove themselves through his leg, but he couldn’t seem to find a place to rest. A surprisingly comprehensible pattern of stairs led farther and farther downwards, but Hiccup found himself unable to stay in one place for long. He felt uneasy, like he was walking farther and farther into a giant dragon’s gullet―and after seeing Nidhogg, even that wasn’t outside the boundaries of possibility.

Hiccup finally found a rounded, uneven cavern to rest in. Twisted and engorged pillars of stone hung from the ceiling and rose from the ground, creating a jagged, toothy mouth in every direction. Some were wide and some were thinner than a finger, but in the dim light of the cavern, they merged into the walls and ground, making grotesque figures in shadowy light. They reminded Hiccup of Nidhogg’s terrible power, and he shuddered, wrapping the remaining rags of his clothes tight around him.

Light was dimly shining from many places, making a prismacolor interior comparable to the Northern Lights. Blue algae floating overtop small pools glowed gently, creating a sleepy yet vibrant light. Small gems and minerals glowed as well, poking their iridescent corners out of any surface, creating green and yellow and orange light within a small radius. Hiccup saw these small wonders and was mystified.

It was eerily silent, with an echoing reverb for the few sounds―most of which were the noises of water. A drip fell from the ceiling and dove into a algae-covered puddle, the sound echoing outwards through the tunnels; the sounds of a small stream of water falling upon the ground. The sound of roughened breathing moved through the dimly lit cavern, returning to Hiccup’s ears distorted and frightening, like a monster’s angry growl. The sounds were quiet―but in the silence they pounded on Hiccup’s pained ears. It just now had occurred to him, however, that in the depths of the earth, that his hearing―after losing it so abruptly in the depths of Nidhogg’s volcanic lair―had returned just as strong as it had before.

Hiccup was uncomfortable in this mysterious landscape. It was cold and damp, not to mention the injuries covering his body from head to toe; but more than the slippery surfaces and the shadowy, muted light, it was as if he was being observed no matter where he laid. It felt as if he were constantly being pressed into the ground by an invisible weight. 

It reminded him of Nidhogg’s immense, overbearing power, and how helpless he was before it.

He stood and limped around, hoping he could find some place where the pressure would relieve itself. He edged along the smoothed walls of the cavern, then shuffled his way into the middle, leaning on pillars of stone that held the cavern ceiling high. The air was charged, but even more so, it was still and uncaring. Hiccup stood in the middle of the empty cavern and looked around, hoping there was some way to escape it.

Across the cavern, three tunnels led further into the earth. One was small, barely lit and would likely be uncomfortable, but a possible fit. The second was smaller, perhaps two feet around, but better lit and smoother. The third was massive, almost enough to be considered an extension of the cavern, and had a slight tilt upwards. It was dimly lit, but the light seemed to die the moment it touched the air leading into the tunnel. The path curved sharply, preventing a view of the other side of the tunnel. Hiccup paused for a moment, wondering which tunnel he should choose―but the choice seemed obvious. He looked back once at the tunnel which had led this far down, then walked toward the gigantic tunnel. 

As he slowly approached the tunnel’s entrance, however, Hiccup felt the pressure increase. It was a change from uncomfortable to crushing, with every step forward adding significant weight to his shoulders. It did not act like normal weight―his legs still held up, but he felt pressed flat, as if he was walking deeper and deeper underwater. He backed away, and the pressure alleviated itself within seconds. Hiccup took a deep breath and sat down, facing the abnormally thick air of the tunnel.

He thought for a bit, then tried another way to get into the tunnel; it was a failure. Another try: failure again. After the third attempt, Hiccup decided that the large tunnel was an obstinate and generally irritating path to attempt to take. He limped along the slick bluish-gray wall and arrived at the second tunnel―the small yet well-lit path.

In his anger towards the large tunnel, Hiccup did not look deeper into the hole or attempt throwing rocks down to see how they would land. With the sound of moving water echoing around him from both through the tunnel and in the cavern, he laid himself on his stomach and began sliding backwards into the small tunnel. Feeling the way with his one good leg, he was able to worm his way backwards through it. After a few cramped and painful minutes, he felt a ledge with a higher ceiling and wider walls, and pushed himself backwards quicker, hoping to reduce the claustrophobia that had been mounting within him. 

He pushed himself out onto a small ledge, allowing himself to rise onto his knees and breathe heavily. Underneath him was a thin ledge of stone, and below that a violent river of great size―even compared to many on the mainlands. The water-slick tunnel was lit only by glowing minerals protruding from the the ceiling and walls, poking out like thorns. However, these were brighter than the ones in the previous cavernous room, filled with white and blue light from the skies. They showered down like spotlights, and great swathes of alternating darkness and color flooded the passage.

Hiccup looked to one side, then another, still hugging the wall. The ledge he was resting on was lit by a crystal a few meters down, and seemed to stretched down a high edge of the tunnel for quite a distance. He moved a few inches closer to the edge, curious about the depth, hoping to see deeper into the river.

As he did so, the ledge shattered beneath him, and he fell into the shadowy depths of the water.

Or he would have, if he had been any less alert than he already was. The thinly lined stone that had made up the ledge had buckled for a split second before it had broken, and Hiccup had not passed up that bare moment of uncertainty in the rock. As the rock fractured and fell, Hiccup twisted his body to grab the neighboring rocks in the ledge; falling along with the pieces of rock, he reached out―and by some god-given miracle, Hiccup’s right hand found a piece of the ledge that was not slick, simply a smooth rock.

He hung for a few moments, but he felt his handhold beginning to buckle as well. He pulled up with his right arm, and launched his left hand out, hoping to catch a sturdier chunk of protruding stone. As he did so, however, a plate-sized slab of rock broke off where his right hand was holding―leaving him hanging once again, this time from his left arm. He felt the new rock trembling under his weight as well.

Once again, he launched himself upwards, the stone holding himself above the frothing water breaking underneath his weight. This time, he grabbed ahold of a stronger piece of the outcropping. He paused, holding his body steady with his feet against the wall, but this stone did not buckle―it held, as if it was fused to the wall. He lifted his left arm once again to grab at the slick stone, and his two trembling arms pulled him upwards, assisted by the grooves in the wall he pushed against with his feet. 

Hiccup knelt on a thicker slab of ledge,a white crystal illuminating his surroundings much more intently than where he had been kneeling previously. To his surprise, he saw the first tunnel―the small yet unlit tunnel―opening to a worn-down area of the ledge. He hadn’t noticed it previously in his mad rush to stay above the water, but now that he was close, he saw how much easier it would be to escape through the tunnel with the light from the crystal. 

Reaching back and anchoring himself on a rounded handle of stone, Hiccup stretched out to collect the crystal from the ceiling. The crystal moved when he first pulled on it, but felt as if it was attached by a gummy, non-solid substance. After yanking on it some more, Hiccup gave one final jerk, pulling the crystal out with an audible pop. In consequence, he flew backwards, his own momentum throwing him into the wall. The sound of his skull colliding with the stone behind him echoed down the water-filled tunnel, followed shortly by a hissed stream of expletives.

Hiccup opened his eyes, squinting through the pain, and examined the crystal in his hand. The luster it had emitted previously was dimmed, but it still glowed with a warm white light that illuminated his surroundings―more so, even with the reduced light, since it was so much closer. He looked down at himself, and saw that most of his rags had been torn off in his struggle; he was scratched and bleeding in many places that he could not even feel pain. 

His broken leg was numb at this point, slightly crooked halfway down the calf and unusable, so Hiccup knelt back down to preserve whatever he could of his already unrepairable leg. In a best-case scenario, he would be given a peg leg after an excruciating amputation; in a worst-case scenario, his entire leg would be removed, and his’s life would be filled with a stagnant, worthless existence. He wanted to keep himself from worsening this already terrible situation―so he crawled away from the edge toward the tunnel, holding the crystal in front of him and his leg dragging behind him, leaving a thin trail of blood.

The ascent to the main cavern was much quicker than the descent. Crawling forward, Hiccup had the liberty of watching his step (or crawl, as it was in this scenario), as well as controlling the only source of light. The tunnel was also larger and more smooth, resulting in a generally painless escape.

Hiccup saw the light coming from around a bend in the tunnel, and crawled a shaky line towards it. He reached the end and burst into the great cavern he had come from, finally gasping a great breath. He was free of the small, enclosed spaces.

He moved in a strange combination between hopping and limping towards the middle of the cavern once again, contemplating what his next decision would bring him to do. The crystal clutched in his hand still let off a dim light, allowing him to see his surroundings with greater clarity. Yet, no matter what, he still felt as if the darkness oppressed him, and that his movements were still being watched. He reached the middle, and laid down, hoping to rest for a while.

A growl reverberated through the tunnel with a low, groaning sound. It was not a dragon―instead, Hiccup’s stomach felt the need to voice the torment of its emptiness. The boy curled up in a painful ball, and as he did so, he squinted around the cavern. The colorful lights beautified the empty space, but they did nothing to deliver food of any kind, and Hiccup’s mind scrambled for a solution. His cramping intestines did not help.

A particularly bright patch of moss floating on a puddle caught Hiccup’s eye, and in his starved stupor, he decided that forcing some of that down would be better than the state he was in. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees (almost falling down again with a tearing feeling in his gut) and began shuffling towards the puddle. After what felt like an hour’s worth of dragging himself forward, he found himself in front of the water.

The blue was blindingly pure, like an intense fire; as Hiccup reached underneath the water to lift the moss out, the light ceased almost entirely, only leaving the slightest glow. He jerked his hand backwards in surprise, but the algae had not disappeared, only changed its look. He reached back in, lifted a large wad to his mouth, and bit down.

He gagged and spat it to the side, then slapped himself and bit into a smaller piece of the clump. It was far worse than he had expected it to be. The consistency was somewhere between month-old bread and ash. The taste was similarly terrible.  _ Eat, Hiccup, goddamn eat! _ He thought, egging himself on.  _ This is nothing compared to some of the vile foods you’ve eaten at home! _

As he swallowed his first bite and went in for a second, he realized what he had thought unconsciously. Without paying attention to it, he had called Berk his home. The place he had grown up―mocked and ridiculed and shunned―was it still his home? He certainly felt a complicated mix of emotions towards the island, ranging from pure hatred to comfort and serenity. It seemed so long ago that he had plotted to bring the island to its knees, destroy it and take it over for himself; the plan seemed so childish to him now, after the torment he had gone through to regain control over himself. Could he possibly inflict that torture on the people of his own homeland?

He shrugged away his thoughts, but he knew that they would be back, for him to contemplate some more.

Choking down the last rancid clump of algae, Hiccup lowered his head to drink some of the water as well. Hopefully it would calm his stomach―first he was uncomfortable because he had not eaten in what felt like weeks, now he was uncomfortable because he had. He stood: leaning heavily on his good leg, water dripping from the edges of his face, and looked around the cavernous room. The dark, all encompassing stone was unforgivingly unchanged.

He lifted the lighted crystal into the air, hoping it would shed enough light around to reveal a passage hidden by the darkness, the bones of an animal, anything other than what he had already discovered. Yet he saw nothing. He turned once again towards the exit, the tunnel that had twisted and led steeply downward away from the harsh elements. He could easily leave, but something kept him here―a connection to something deeper that he could not find the words for. Even with the darkness and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, something kept him underneath the surface.

Hiccup turned again and again, searching the walls for something new, but his eyes kept moving over slick stone and nothing else. Eventually, he found himself staring at the large tunnel once again, the one with the crushing pressure. He knew full well how powerful the force had been, but what else could he try? 

The crystal still gripped tightly in his hand, he stumbled towards the cave, wincing occasionally at the spikes of pain coursing through his left leg. No matter the pain, however, he finally arrived at the entrance. It gaped as unassumingly as before, but he knew the mysterious danger it presented. 

Hiccup edged closer, testing to find the edge of the pressure―there was an unusual darkness that permeated the space, so it was not too hard to find the edge. He lifted his arm and slowly pushed forward, hoping the crystal would illuminate some more of the thick, inexplicable darkness.

But there was no pressure at all, just clear air.

Hiccup’s brow ruffled, and he pushed his other arm forward, but it almost immediately felt crushed by the same pressure as before. He looked forward at the first arm, and the pieces began to put themselves together in his mind. He pulled back, then held the crystal to his chest and stepped into the tunnel, bracing himself for the same reaction as last time. 

He felt pressure, but only a small amount―like someone was pressing down upon his shoulders, as opposed to the feeling of being submerged far underwater. While it was uncomfortable, as he took a few more steps, it did not increase. He breathed a sigh of relief as his nervous energy dissipated. He walked into the darkness, hoping and praying that he was not walking himself into a more dangerous situation.

He did not know how long he walked, but it felt like hours. Time seemed to flow slowly as the only light Hiccup could see was the crystal in his hands, like an isolated world only he lived in. As the pressure (lessened, but not gone) crushed him from all sides, he found it difficult to breathe, difficult to walk, and somehow, felt like his body was being refreshed. Like a sponge, he felt full of an ugly, corrosive pus of impurities, and this pressure simply forced it out of him. 

Finally, Hiccup stepped out onto the other side of the darkness. The moment he did, his legs gave out―or at least the one good leg he had been using to limp forward. He looked up at the new area he had brought himself to, hoping he would find salvation.

But all he found was a new danger.

The cavern was large―not gargantuan like the previous, but large in its own right. It was also brilliantly lit; the crystals and algae from the previous cavity had illuminated it moderately well, but this room had an entire roof made of giant, sky-blue crystals. They glowed with a homely light, somehow giving a sun’s warmth in a cold, clammy underground passage. The cave itself was shaped like a wide orb, flattened on the top and bottom. A single pillar of stone encrusted with multicolor crystals stood in the center of the room, reaching high to hold the crystalline roof above; like a tree that had grown pushing the sky upwards. 

The walls, scattered with crystalline shapes, curved immaculately out of the same ashy gray stone that had built the rest of the caverns and tunnels so far. On the far left side of the cavern, a sudden hole in the wall and floor opened up, revealing a waterfall surging downwards into the earth. It pounded on the edges of the hole, leaving wisps of mist floating through the cavern, giving an even more mysterious effect to the entire area. Hiccup felt tremors through the ground as the water beat against the wall and the floor, and he shuddered― _ this must be where that violent river begins. Thank the gods I caught myself before falling in. _

This was not the danger, however. The water’s relentless pounding was alarming, but it could not hurt him if he did not approach it. What Hiccup saw across from him was a giant Skrill, a dragon nearly as infamous and as legendary as a Night Fury itself. 

According to legend and myth, Skrills were one of the smaller dragons, relying on their agility and ungodly control over lightning. When Skrills had existed in the world, they were the most feared hunters―why else would the berserkers brand their ships with the likeness of it? All records stated that Skrills were extinct, if they had ever even existed, but here was one now, nearly the size of a large Monstrous Nightmare. 

Even if that were the case, Hiccup knew that not all dragons were demons; some were intelligent and often peaceful. As long as they were left undisturbed, many dragons would live and let live.

No, what worried Hiccup were the bones laying around the Skrill. He saw a multitude of bones around it―and he knew a human skull when he saw one. 

Without a moment’s notice, Hiccup jumped forward to hide behind the pillar. He bit his finger to keep a scream in, jumping with his broken leg, but hopefully his actions had been overlooked in this misty cavern. He sat with his back to the slick stone, silent. The seconds felt like hours, but Hiccup barely moved a muscle, barely breathing, fearing that the oversized dragon had noticed him and would add his pained bones to the pile.

“Do not hide, child. I’ve seen you since you entered my territory, long before you had control over yourself once again.”

Hiccup heard a deep voice that seemed to cut through the roaring water. He heard it in his ears, but it buzzed inside his mind as well; it reminded him of Nidhogg’s cutting voice, but this voice had no malice or cruelty in it. He did not move, but he replied quietly, hoping that he was not hallucinating from his hunger. “Who...what are you? Why can I hear you?”

“Step out from behind the stalagmite. I don’t have the patience to talk to an empty room.”

The voice returned, more stern and irritated-sounding than before. Two things had now cemented themselves in Hiccup’s mind: first, he was certainly not hallucinating, and second, he was dealing with a creature far stronger than a simple Skrill. He stood weakly, then turned to face the larger-than-life monster.

“Are you going to kill me?” It was a simple question―he knew that the answer would be absolute. In the state he was in now, a child could kill him if it tried hard enough, so of course this Skrill could.

“No. There is no guarantee that you will live, however. Choose now to continue your trial, or leave.” The dragon spoke with an air of finality, and silence began to build between them, with only the crashing sound of water filling in the empty air.

“What do you mean trial? I just came here to get out of the weather, and Nidhogg, and-” Hiccup’s words came out cluttered and unintelligible. He quieted himself, then stared at the kingly dragon with the look that an unknowing child would wear.

“I tire of this, child. Choose now, or I will take action to force you to finish the trial. You simply have to survive―unlike the others who came and failed to do so before you.”

Hiccup’s brow furrowed in an anxious mass. He glanced briefly at the bones around the Skrill, then glanced back at the cave he had entered from; what more could there be to test? Hiccup opened his mouth tentatively. “I would rather not choose without more informa―”

The Skrill’s eyes narrowed in what seemed to be annoyance, and it moved quicker than a flash, darting barely a foot in front of Hiccup. The boy instinctively jumped and backed away in shock, putting his right arm up to defend himself, perhaps. With a white-hot bolt of lightning from the dragon’s mouth, his arm disappeared to the elbow. With another near-instantaneous movement, the Skrill knocked Hiccup towards the opening leading down, along with the furious waterfall.

Hiccup barely felt anything. He felt as if his arm was simply numb, and that he would regain mobility any second. But as he was thrown towards the chasm, he screamed in a way that would make any Viking ashamed to hear. He hit the water with a blunt smacking noise, and disappeared into the depths, shot downwards like an arrow. 

The great Skrill slunk back to its perch, making long, unconcerned movements. It laid back down, closed its eyes and was silent.

* * *

Toothless found himself flying circles above a churning vortex in the cold ocean. It was the dead of night, but light glimmered underneath the whirlpool, somewhere deep in the ocean. He glided about, attempting to find a different way to enter. He felt that his path led downwards, but it would be risky at best to attempt diving straight in.

“ _ Brother, I see you hesitating. You have as much right to give this trial up as your human did. Choose now, or suffer the consequences.” _

Toothless heard the voice again, as he had heard multiple times during his flight. Just a moment ago, he had learned of Hiccup’s indiscision, and how the voice had resolved it. Toothless had received as little information as Hiccup, but he knew that he had to make a choice, or his fate would be the same. 

Toothless hesitated, but he had decided, even if it was not the ideal choice. He took one long look at the swirling water, then lifted his wings to fly upward. With a hearty gust from underneath his wings, the Night Fury shot upwards like a dark bullet. In seconds, he was far higher than any mountain, disappearing into the dark sky as his dark scales allowed.

The water churned and lapped as the silence set over the ocean. A fish leapt out of the ocean, splashing against the cold surface at re-entry. A single twig caught in the current was dragged into the watery funnel. A quiet sigh seemed to emanate over the froth-lined water, causing ripples to wash across it: “ _ Ah...So that is your decision.” _

Silence seemed to hold the ocean still―even the whirlpool seemed to quiet down for a moment. Piercing through the silence, a faint whistling came from above, growing louder every second; as the whistling grew, the water’s spell seemed to break as well, crashing and swirling uncontrollably.

Toothless shot towards the center of the whirlpool, every muscle in his body tensed close. His wings were wrapped around him, and he was moving faster than he ever had before, only using gravity and the remaining force from his flight to fall at impossible speeds. He heard the wind whistling past him, louder and louder and louder―until he hit a wall of pure air. His momentum could not be stopped, however, so with a noise that was as loud as Nidhogg’s roar, Toothless broke through.

For a moment, he heard nothing at all. Then he hit the water, and shot deep into the whirlpool’s depths.

* * *

Hiccup was thrown into a wall of stone, then was ripped away by the same water that had flung him into it. He was discombobulated and hurt, but he still could not find his bearings as he was jerked back and forth. The scattered light flashed by in momentary glimpses, and he was only able to clearly see himself moving at an intense speed. He felt himself cut and bruised as he careened into the walls of the tunnel, but every time he opened his mouth to yell, it was filled with a forceful thrust of water shoved into his throat.

Suddenly, with a cracking, white-hot pain that Hiccup felt in every part of his body, he jerked to a stop. The water still charged down the tunnel around him, but he had come to an abrupt halt. Looking down (or upwards, as he was hanging upside down) at his feet, he saw a horrific sight―his left leg, already broken, had caught between two sharp spires of stone sticking out of the water. The bone and muscle had ripped clean of the skin, and he was only held by the resilience of his own stubborn body. He had never felt such pain, not even when his body had been broken by Nidhogg, and he screamed in agony.

Once his mind was clear enough to think―or more accurately, the pain’s shock had worn off―he looked around him to find an escape. Through a haze of water and pain, the first thing Hiccup saw was a long, thin chunk of stone, like an ashy sword. He reached with his right arm to grab it...but after a moment of confusion, realized that his right arm no longer existed, only a stump where it had once been. He twisted, grinding his teeth as the strain on his leg only became worse, and reached for the thin stone with his left side.

His fingers wrapped around the swordlike stone, but when he pulled, it shifted only a few inches worth. He pulled again, and the stone around its base cracked. Finally, with a jerk that sent a blazing wave of needle-like pain through his leg once again, Hiccup ripped it from the base of the wall. With a clouded, near-dead brain, he swung the sword at his left leg with all his might.

It cleaved through like an executioner’s axe, and Hiccup went tumbling into the water again―but now losing blood at a rapid rate. He was dragged across a rocky edge of the tunnel, then was thrown into the middle, where he struggled to stay above water at all. He was beaten by watery fists made of silt and death-cold water as he was thrown about like a child; he was unsure how he was even alive at this point. Most Vikings would have at least fainted away by this point.

A light―a light that did not waver or shimmer―showed itself farther down the tunnel, and in Hiccup’s half-conscious state, he tried to brace himself.  _ This will be the last chance to escape the watery grave I’m heading towards _ , he thought, allowing it to move through his mind. He tensed his body, preparing to leap out of the water in any way he possibly could. As the light moved closer, he waited, barely paying attention to the relentless beating that the water was giving.

But as he moved from the intermittent flashes of light into the bright area, his mind was fully turned on its head. Instead of jumping from the water, he fell straight out from underneath. He landed painfully, stuck in place like a bug underneath a pin. 

Hiccup stared up at the room around him, and his mind could not comprehend what he was seeing. Firstly, the violent river that had been throwing him around like a toy fell from its high tunnel. But instead of shattering the peaceful room around him in a cascading waterfall, the water condensed into a marvelously colored waterspout. It swirled around the room’s ceiling, then flowed upwards, out of the cave. Just from that supernatural sight, Hiccup could tell he was in a tiny world, never touched by the outside before.

That was not all, however. The crystals in the previous caverns had been blue, or white, or green. The crystals in this room covered every possible crevice, and shone yellow and orange with the intensity of hundreds of Berk sunsets. Some were long, sharp and piercing, others were flat, curved or smaller than a fingernail. It was a marvelous sight.

But the true marvel was something that Hiccup had never seen before―and yet he knew exactly what it must be. A giant grey root, writhing with life and fertility, pierced the floor of the cave and stretched to the ceiling, extending pieces of root across the ceiling to collect water from the ribbons floating through the air, or to bury themselves in between crystalline shapes. He recognized what Toothless had eaten the previous day as a piece of this, and combined with the overflowing energy in these caves, he knew what he had stumbled upon.

A root of the Yggdrasil tree; the Origin Ash itself.

Hiccup chuckled weakly to himself. How ironic that after all the trouble he had gone through, all the pain and suffering, he would die after seeing such a legendary piece of myth in person. He spat blood to the side, then looked down at his chest.

A long, thin shard of orange crystal protruded from his left side―piercing right through his heart and ribs. He lifted his left hand to pull it loose, but unlike the stone from earlier, it held firm to its origin. His hand fell to his chest, and it laid there. He felt no heartbeat underneath where the bloody spike had impaled him.

The crystals let off a warm light. But Hiccup still felt cold.

* * *

The Skrill was quiet, but spoke to the darkly colored dragon in front of it. “Your trials began long ago, and now they are complete, brother. You now will be reborn in mind and in body, and you will become much stronger than you ever could’ve before.”

Toothless paced back and forth anxiously, as if unsure of his role, but responded in similarly confident tones. “How long will it take for me to be reborn? I will not change my identity?”

“Now, now, don’t be silly,” chuckled the Skrill lightly. “It won’t take long at all. Demigodhood is a bit of a stretch―you’re just getting a blessing set upon you. You will still stay just as you are now, only stronger, smarter, and better.”

“And Hiccup?”

What seemed to be a smile on the Skrill’s face diminished, and he responded grimly. “I cannot promise his survival. Even if he returns from this challenge, he may not have completed his trial―only the gods giving the blessing decide that.” The Skrill paused, then spoke again with more confidence. “But I can promise you this. Even if Hiccup is unable to pass this trial, if he dies, there are many places you can stay. With this blessing, you will be safe for millenia. And I can tell you that he is not the first to discover the peaceful tendencies of our kind. I swear this on my name, Fenrir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mythology for this chapter is:
> 
> Yggdrasil, the world tree, is located in the center of the universe, uniting it. It has three roots, each in a different world. Those three worlds are Niflheim (Hell), Jotunheim, and Midgard (the land of the humans). 
> 
> Fenrir, son of Loki, was born as one of Loki’s three monster children. The gods banished the other two children, but allowed Fenrir to live with them. As he grew, however, the gods became afraid, and tricked him into being chained away. To achieve this, they had to sacrifice Tyr’s arm. It was said that during Ragnarok, he would escape his chains and kill Odin, king of the gods.
> 
> Also, the caverns are not meant to copy those from the hidden world. Just a happy coincidence.


	16. Revival

Toothless stared at the Skrill, unsure what to say. Fenrir was a mythical beast , spoken about in legends and feared as a merciless hunter. Dragons and Humans often had discrepancies in their legacies passed down, but some stayed unchanged. The creation myth, the wars of the gods and giants, and many other core legends stayed true.

Fenrir was one of these core legends, undilutable and terrifying.

“Hiccup did not decide what he wished to do. Please give him a chance to live, Lord Fenrir.” Toothless spoke with steel behind his words, yet with respect and fear in his voice.

“It was never his choice. He was chosen at birth, just as all of us are―overcoming a trial to receive the blessings of their god. If he was to accept help from another now, all his progress would come to a halt.” Fenrir spoke with a stony certenity. “I have slumbered here for millenia, and have sent many to their doom for the sake of their trials. Don’t think that I am a pushover, brother.”

Toothless felt as if he was standing in front of an ancient beast―and he was, but it hadn’t truly sunk into his bones until this moment, when he was going toe-to-toe with the demigod’s will. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut; he was trembling with tension. 

Fenrir took the initiative to speak again. “It is not impossible for me to offer some help for him, but he is in a special place. Time moves strangely there, and even my reach is stunted when I reach towards it.” Toothless opened his mouth, but the grand Skrill shot an unamused glare towards the smaller dragon, then continued. “But even the smallest mote of help may undo the work he has put forth so far. Are you willing to take the blame if the boy becomes weak and crippled, or insists on fighting something far stronger than him?”

Toothless was taken aback, but could not find a way to refute the older dragon. No matter how vicious Hiccup was as a fighter, he was not a perfect warrior. He could be bested. 

“Please help him. I owe him more than I could repay for many years.” His voice was quiet, but his eyes were solid like iron.   
  
Sighing, Fenrir’s body and spines began to crackle with electricity. Before releasing the energy, he spoke one last time―”he is clean of the demon now, but that also makes him weak. Do you still have the resolve to keep him safe?”

Toothless nodded solemnly.

Fenrir frowned but said no more, and glowed with a blue-white electric current, flowing downwards into the ground.

* * *

Hiccup’s eyes shot open and he shot upwards, as the painful feeling of needles crawled down his back. He sat, panting and pained as the feeling faded. His skin felt tender and new. As he breathed deeper, his vision began to blur, and he looked down to see the orange spike still piercing through his chest. His heart was beating once again, but the crystalline spear twisted slightly with every beat, and radiated an intense heat that had cauterized the wound as soon as it had been created.

The room was sweltering, to be honest. Every crystal seemed to have the heat of a small sun inside of it, and while it was not unbearable, Hiccup watched the residual water from the stream evaporate off him, and felt sweat begin to run down his body. He kneeled on his one half-leg, and placed his good foot on the ground; he looked around with wary and curious eyes.

The cavern was smaller than any other he had been in, with most of the space taken up by the massive root winding through the center of the room. It was lit at every angle by the crystals, and shadow did not seem to exist around it. Hiccup pivoted best he could, and looked behind him for the first time. He saw something entirely unexpected and fascinating. 

A short pedestal broke the monotony of bright crystals. It was made of a white stone, overlain with a shining metals. The metals shimmered with a strange light, even while being illuminated by the orange and yellow bulbs of light covering every surface. It was not a metal Hiccup had ever seen before―and he had seen them all, working directly under Gobber’s strict tutelage. The pedestal was the first puzzling thing to him.

More interesting, however, was what was on top of the pedestal―nothing. More accurately, there was nothing on the pedestal, while it seemed evident that something should be. Chains were littered about, and dried blood was splattered atop the stone and all over the constraints. The chains were made of the same metal as the lining of the pedestal, but this metal was twisted and torn and rusted with the red of ancient blood, the elegant shine broken and gone. 

He was in a sacred place, he could tell. But more importantly, it was once a prison.

He tried to stand―to walk towards the flat stone―but his missing leg unbalanced him, and he fell against burning crystals made of wispy flame.

He gritted his teeth silently as his skin was punctured, then got onto his knees with considerable difficulty. He turned away from the short pillar, looking once again at the root of the world tree, sprouting from the roof of the cavern and winding its way down to the floor. The life in it was overflowing, almost a visible ripple in the air around it.

Taking a deep breath, Hiccup began to hobble-crawl his way towards the tree. He left a trail of blood, as the fresh punctures in his left arm bled a bright red. As he crawled, the orange shard left protruding from his heart twisted and poked at his insides. It was beyond difficult for him to leave the piece in, instead of ripping it out―but he recognized that that doing so would cut his life even shorter.

Finally, after moments that stretched long and agonizing, Hiccup found himself at the base of the world tree’s root. It was a deep, earthy brown so alive that it could almost be felt breathing. He slumped to the ground like a dead animal, but he stretched his arm up towards the root.

When he touched it, he was surprised by the soft texture. It felt less like wood than it did a mass of dirt and vines forming together into a giant root. In fact, Hiccup’s hand was able to push into it without much effort, and he pulled out a cord of root: it was about the thickness of his own arm, and felt closer to a sea sponge than it did a chunk of wood. It was full of life, and Hiccup ripped it from the tree without hesitation.

Even if Yggdrasil was the center of life in the universe, Hiccup would tear it down himself for the chance to heal.

He stuffed a chunk in his mouth, then ripped it apart with his teeth. Another chunk went in, then another, and within a minute, he had devoured the whole vine. He first felt nothing―nothing except an insatiable hunger. Rather than feeling more full, he felt his stomach twisting in an extreme emptiness, and he curled himself into a tight ball.

Next, he felt heat. 

The room itself was uncomfortably hot, with the constant heat from the crystals creating a naturally warming room. But Hiccup felt heat beyond what he had ever known, from inside his own body. The first wave flowed through him, and his breath dried inside him. Then it hit fully, and Hiccup felt steam flow out of his own skin into the open air.

He struggled to take a breath, but his body seemed to be pressing in on itself, barely functioning. He spasmed on the ground, scratching at his throat with his one hand and kicking with his one full leg. Steam exuded from his body in wisps, but he barely noticed them, with his senses disoriented in the pain.

But suddenly, Hiccup’s lungs filled with air, and the searing pain reduced. He sat up, breathing heavily, and looking down to watch an amazing transformation.

First was his left arm, scratched and bloody from his recent fall onto the shredding crystals. When he realized that the heat had begun to recede, he found that the pain in his arm had as well. He looked down, and watched as his arm began to knit itself back together. Slightly to the right, a chunk of crystal broke free of his chest. 

But he still felt a piece inside his chest, twitching with every heartbeat.

Hiccup began to panic, but he failed to stand. His missing arm and leg had not yet returned to him, so he stumbled forward as his heart beat faster. He clawed at his chest, but the skin had already closed over his heart, trapping the orange stone inside his heart. Adrenaline pumped into his brain and veins as his crisis increased. It was already miraculous that he had survived while stabbed through the heart―but leaving a chunk inside would likely be a death sentence. 

He knelt on the ground, breathing erratically and waiting for an indication that he was about to die―his heart to burst, or his body to cease movement―but it did not come. The pain that had come from eating the legendary ash tree’s wood had dissipated, and no other pain began. Soon, he could not even feel the crystal in his chest.

He choked down another breath, then forcefully calmed himself. He stabilized himself and moved back to sit against the root, staring down at his newly healed body. His skin was unblemished and his scars had disappeared―even scars from years ago had disappeared; swallowed by the new skin. His right arm and left leg, however, remained as nonexistent as before.

He reached to feel the places they should’ve been, and felt new, raw muscle tissue over the wounds―but no indication that the limbs were returning.

With his heartbeat raising again in panic, he reached back to pull another rope of the life-giving tree out. It was just as simple as pulling the first, and was done with just as little hesitation. He ate, and he felt the same hunger and fire inside him―only slightly decreased in intensity, if at all.

Once again, Hiccup’s missing appendages seemed to stay just as stubbornly unreturnable; he sat and pondered why this could be. Thinking back, he remembered Toothless’s miraculous recovery, the strange thing (he realized now that it was certainly part of the same root) that the dragon had eaten, and wondered why the tail had been re-attached…

“Reattached!”

Hiccup surprised even himself in this serene cave―but his realization was so sudden that he couldn’t help his outburst. The air seemed to shimmer as his yell reverberated through it.

“His tail reattached, and I watched it connect itself back together.” Hiccup murmured to himself. “What if the world tree didn't heal...but instead turned back the clock on myself and Toothless? That means…”

Hiccup’s head fell back onto the root that he sat against as a dark scowl bled across his face. How could he reattach his arm when it had been turned to a fine paste by the Skrill, or his leg after it had likely been beaten to pieces in the river?

Sitting and starving slowly to death, Hiccup pulled down another vine and chewed it slowly as he thought. It made him feel hungrier, but he still swallowed it down “ _ It has to be filling me up at least a little, right? Food doesn’t just disappear once you eat it. _ ”

He didn’t know how long he sat; nibbling on the vines, pondering how he could fix himself, and dozing in and out of consciousness. But time passed, and no ideas came to him―so his mind wandered aimlessly: he wondered about the twins, what they thought of his disappearance and how they had reacted. He sneered at the idea of someone else winning the chance to kill the Monstrous Nightmare, although he knew that the only one in his generation (aside from him) who would have that ability was Astrid. It was so long ago that most of them had forgotten it by now. Weekly to monthly dragon raids would do that to people; they had to live in the moment.

Hiccup shifted his position against the root and thought back further, to when he had first met Toothless, and how they had become members of a team together. They had changed from two opposing forces to a now unbreakable duo, going through pain and possession together. Hiccup laid back comfortably, thinking about how long he had worked to work out their differences, and returned flight to the dragon.

But suddenly, Hiccup shot up. He stared at the stump where his right arm should’ve been, then out, farther into the cavern. The pedestal was just as coldly motionless as it had stayed since Hiccup fell into the room, and the metal gilding it shone just as brightly. But now, crawling toward the pedestal, Hiccup had an idea.

He had created a dragon’s tail, why couldn’t he make an arm and a leg?

He arrived at the pedestal, and began examining it.

* * *

Toothless paced uneasily on the slick floor; Fenrir laid silently on his perch, watching. The deafening waterfall washed downwards endlessly, and Toothless stayed quiet in return, waiting quietly for Hiccup to return. The silence between the two dragons was as loud and abrupt as the waterfall.

Fenrir finally broke the silence―with a growling stomach. He stood and asked, “Are you not hungry? You’ve paced for three days straight, and Hiccup will not be coming up that pathway for quite a long while.”

Toothless did not reply, only shrugged noncommittally and kept pacing.

“Are you blaming yourself? Blaming me, maybe? What is the matter whether or not the boy survives-” Fenrir spoke, not smugly, but without care. He was cut off, however, by an angered growl.

“Do you not understand at all? Have you never trusted someone, been together with them for long enough to know them as well as yourself? Hiccup is my trusted companion, and I will wait for him just as long as it takes.” Toothless glared at the older dragon, but the Skrill glared back, a dark look in his eyes.

“Yes. I had someone like that―once. Pray that you never break your bonds with your human, brother. It can prove fatal.”

The silence began again. The two of them were in the room, silent with a backdrop of thunder from the waterfall.

* * *

Hiccup had figured out all that he needed. First: the crystals in the room were not all the same. The orange crystals exuded heat constantly, but when they were broken from the ground, they glowed bright with a much fiercer burn for about a minute. The yellow crystals, on the other hand, glowed with the same light, but were harder than even the metal (he had tested this in a very scientific manner: hit the metal with the crystal). The metal itself was still an unknown metal to him, but it seemed pure and without obvious fault. 

Without extremely precise tools, Hiccup would not be able to make himself anything better than a crude peg leg and a hook, but he had plans. This metal was unique, he was sure, and he wanted to keep it for himself. Why let it rust, far away from where it could ever be used? 

Thus, he began his process. It was a vicious cycle of breaking orange crystals and utilizing their heat to soften the metal, then using the yellow crystal to shape it. He had a stock of Yggdrasil vines for healing when his hands were burnt beyond their ability to withstand, which would burn him from the inside. Hiccup was resilient, however, and his body grew to withstand the heat―a blacksmith had to be sturdy, after all.

First, he made the leg: it was crude and could be called a peg leg by only the loosest of definitions; it was closer to a bundle of metal rods messily welded together at the foot. Regardless, Hiccup clamped it around his left leg, right underneath the knee.

“Please, Odin, let your tree of wisdom do this one thing for me.” Hiccup muttered, shoving a large chunk of the world tree’s healing wood into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and closed his eyes, feeling a burn flow through his body. But along with the burn, he felt something new, a sensation in his leg.

Already crying out in success, he looked down to see the metal melding with his flesh, just as Toothless’s tail had done with its own metallic input. He felt a strange feeling through the peg leg, as if he could feel the ground through the metal, as if it was his skin all the same―but the color and texture of the metal did not change. 

Breathing heavily, Hiccup looked at his hand. To make a hook of any use at all, he would have to spend far more time on it than he had on the leg. But now, he needed sleep; he had deprived himself rest for far too long, instead allowing the root’s naturally rejuvenating energy to keep him alert. He walked over to and laid down at the base of the tree, and closed his eyes.

* * *

“May I ask you a question?” Toothless asked Fenrir, the two of them gliding lightly over the half-frozen ocean. Toothless had finally agreed to leave the cavern for food, on the condition that Fenrir would alert him the moment that Hiccup had escaped the cavern.

“Of course.”

“What god has given me it’s blessing, and what exactly does that mean?”

Fenrir sighed, but did not seem surprised. He glided downwards, and Toothless followed; they landed on a block of ice and sat there, silently. Eventually, Fenrir spoke.

“It is a much longer story than what I need to tell you now. But in short, there are three things I can tell you now.” Toothless turned his head towards the larger dragon as it kept speaking. “Firstly, I cannot tell you what god has blessed you. It is a significant taboo, and I have no intention of breaking it. But more importantly, I can tell you that it will not matter. Only under rare circumstances will someone be blessed by a god with no resemblance to yourself.”

“Then doesn’t that mean I could figure out who it is?” Toothless interrupted.

Fenrir scowled at the younger dragon for interrupting him, but continued: “Yes. My host did. It made communication much simpler.” He paused, then continued. “Secondly, although I’ve already mentioned it, you will undergo changes. Your soul itself will change into something stronger, and you will have more of an ability to discern other god-blessed creatures. Your body will become stronger as well; when you feel ready, I will help train you.”

“This leads me to my last point. The relationship between your god and your own self. You will still have control over your own self, and you will be given the strength to fight others. At the end of your life, however, you will meet that god. At that time, you will have the choice to relinquish control of your own body, and when you die, your god will inhabit it.” At this, Toothless turned his head completely to stare at the Skrill, trying to understand the full implication of this.

“My body...would be taken over? How does that make you gods any better than Nidhogg?”

Something reminiscent of both a snort and a growl slipped from Fenrir’s mouth, and he responded in a clipped voice: “Did Nidhogg ask permission? Did Nidhogg do anything to be worthy of using your body? He broke an age-old law, doing what he did. Under any normal circumstances, gods and even giants can only regain physical bodies through a careful process of blessing humans while they are alive.”

Toothless was silent for a moment, then asked: “Then what happens? Is he punished by the gods? Does he go free?”

Fenrir shook his head. “Nidhogg is one of, if not the last, of the true gods―although demon is a better title for him. During Ragnarok, the gods and giants fought, and nearly all were killed. Many have come back to the world in mortal bodies, but not Nidhogg. Nidhogg still has his true, divine body. No matter how many fights we reincarnated gods fought against him, he is stronger than we could possibly defeat. It may simply be impossible to fight him.”

Fenrir jumped off the ice block to dive after a fish, leaving Toothless to ponder this new information.

* * *

Hiccup paced back and forth from the root to the pedestal, trying to think of a way that he could work around the problem of having no more metal to work with. He had metal―but it couldn’t be melted, no matter how much heat he exposed it to.

The metal that he had remaining was the chains. They were twisted and broken and surprisingly slender, but Hiccup found it impossible to melt them; they simply repelled heat. There just seemed to be no way to undo their current forms. He had struck at them in every way he thought was possible: with metal, crystals, and his own two hands, but they simply stayed put.

Finally, his pacing came to an end―he had come to a conclusion. No matter how close the chain’s metal looked to the metal gilding the pedestal, they could not be the same. The strength of the chains meant one of two things, he decided: they were something dense enough that not even the heat from the raw orange crystals could melt them, or there was a special, perhaps magical element to them. In Berk such a notion would be laughable. Here, in a cave filled with crystals and a tree with healing properties, it was more than possible.

So, Hiccup turned to drastic, unpredictable methods. In Nidhogg’s mind, he had learned of mechanisms, of gods and demons, of strange magics. Now, he would try to use some of that magic to his advantage, and hopefully, he thought, not kill himself in the process.

Gathering as many of the chains as he could, Hiccup recalled the incantation he had learned. He placed them all on top of the pedestal, and picked up a sharp, yellow crystal he had been using for engravings and precise metalwork.

This magic needed three components―four if you considered the chant. It was relatively simple, compared to most of the other magics that Hiccup had learned of in Nidhogg’s mind―most had seemed far too dangerous or untrustworthy to attempt. This, however, was simple for him, in the current moment. It was just a simple binding―himself and the metal.

First, the magic needed metal to work upon. Apparently, any kind of metal would be usable, but purer and rarer metals would have a heightened effect. Hiccup did not know what kind of metal he was working with, but he knew it was a rare metal.

Second, he needed his own blood. It was a taboo―or more accurately, it was simply common sense―to use your own blood in magic, whether your own or giving it to someone else. He could think of multiple stories off the top of his head that warned against it. However, he was set on this. There seemed to be no other way.

Finally, he needed the blood of a magical creature: a god, a demon, or something in between. This was what had previously stumped him, but he felt confident that he had a way around this. There was dried blood all over the chains and pedestal, clearly untouched for ages.  _ But any creature chained down here, _ Hiccup reasoned,  _ had to be something of mythical origin. It would have to be magical! _

Realistically, he had no idea if it would succeed. However, he had no choice but to try; he had exhausted all other options and needed to get out. He lifted what was left of his right arm, and cut it just above where the elbow should’ve been. He let blood drip onto the chains, then spoke the chant.

Blood ór maðr, shed fyrir power

(Blood of man, shed for power)

gefa þessi weak human strength

(Give this weak human strength)

Blood ór god, used til empower

(Blood of god, used to empower)

ek bind þú til minn lifa

(I bind you to my life)

Metal fran earth, til devour

(Metal from earth, to devour)

taka lifa fran minn nemesis

(Take life from my nemesis)

It was an older dialect of the usually spoken norse, but Hiccup understood vaguely what it meant. It sounded much more ominous when spoken out loud. He shuddered as the last echoes died, like ghosts of his own voice.

He felt nothing.

No explosions, no mystical spirit binding the chains to Hiccup, nothing. Only the silence in the still air. The river, floating around the top of the root as peacefully as it had been since he fell from it, gurgled contentedly. Hiccup closed his eyes and sighed; it almost felt like the cavern itself was mocking him.

But when he closed his eyes, he felt something, the slightest twinge of energy outside his body. The best way to describe it was like describing the feeling of a limb that had gone numb―he knew it was there, and had some vague outline of control over it, but it was still somehow out of his reach. Hiccup opened his eyes, and the feeling faded. 

In Hiccup’s left hand, he still held the crystal, bloody at the tip and as sharp as ever. He raised it high into the air, and swung down upon the chains. When it bounced off, he scowled. But when he looked closer, he noticed a hairline crack. Soon after, he tried pressing a heated crystal to the metal, and to his surprise, a bare outer layer melted. These small concessions were far more than he had found before the binding.

But it still wasn’t nearly enough.

Hiccup was exhausted and hungry. There was only so much the Yggdrasil tree’s root could do to remedy this, and there was limited amount of it to eat in the first place. If he didn’t have a second hand, however, it would be near-impossible for him to climb his way out. 

He glanced down at the half-finished hook, then frowned. He had work to do, he just wasn’t sure how to do it.

* * *

Toothless had gotten used to living in a cave. It had been multiple days, although he lost count how many; his routine was cemented firmly around the natural process of the cave. There were certain times that the unceasing waterfall would ebb, and there would be space to escape. He took this time to fly about, find food, and exercise the aches of boredom out.

He had noticed a difference in himself, over the time that Hiccup was gone. He had found his fire stronger, his flight faster, and his mind sharper. Some of that, Fenrir had said, was due to an abnormality in his body; something about “overflowing life energy,” but gave no explanation. Toothless had not cared. The older dragon was as unhelpful as always, so he was ignored with an obvious pointedness.

There was one other thing that had begun to come to light as well. A vague, perhaps imaginary voice that Toothless could hear from time to time. In the beginning, he had worried, becoming suspicious and closed off to the world. But eventually, Toothless began listening to it―speaking nonsensical blather, in a nonsensical language. Regardless, it made sense to him in the subconscious recesses of his mind.

He listened, and he learned.

And slowly, he became closer to the “Demi-god” state that Fenrir had told him about.

* * *

Hiccup was finally ready.

The chains were as unrelenting as always, barely budging. Hiccup still felt some kind of connection through them, but it was weak and untempered. He lifted them onto his shoulders and back, creating a makeshift backpack (using the term loosely). He had stuffed it with crystals, extra chains, and a few vines of the Yggdrasil tree. The tree itself was somewhat smaller than he remembered it from the beginning, as if it had shriveled slightly, and he worried that he had done something that could not be undone.

Hiccup’s temporary limbs had been finished. The way he had remedied the lack of metal for his arm was simply amending the already-finished leg. Although it had taken what he estimated was two full day’s time, he had whittled down his leg to a sleek, elegant curve of metal with spikes underneath the foot to assist in his climbing. With the extra metal, he had completed a hand (or rather, a multi-pronged hook) that had some basic mechanics inside. It was far from the complexity that he wanted it to be, but it would provide a route for his escape.

He looked around, to assure himself that he had not forgotten anything, little that he planned to carry with him. Satisfied, he turned to the Yggdrasil tree; it was never explicitly said to be a deity, but Hiccup felt honor and power exuding from its root. He bowed his head and kneeled towards it, as if to thank it for allowing him to live, intruding on its peaceful safe haven. He muttered a short prayer in gratitude, then turned to climb up the wall.

Steep and encrusted with crystals, Hiccup found hundreds of handholds in every direction he looked. He scaled the wall in bare moments, surprising himself with his speed.  _ Under all the stress, my body must’ve grown stronger,  _ he mused to himself.  _ I suppose all that forging of raw material did quite a lot for me. _

He paused at the mouth of the river, where it flowed into the open air, transforming from a violent river to a magical stream floating through the cavern. He felt his heart beating faster, and he felt sweat begin to bead above his hairline and down his neck. Even Nidhogg seemed far less terrifying than the danger that this river posed―perhaps it was because he had overcome Nidhogg with Toothless at his side. Now, Hiccup was alone, once again facing a force of nature with a grudge against everything alive.

He hooked his right arm’s makeshift hand on the edge of the opening, gritted his teeth against the fear that pulled him down, and thrust himself into the water.

* * *

Toothless, gliding above some colorless wisps of cloud in a bright sky, cocked his head to the side as he heard Fenrir speaking into his mind. Only two words, but they were exactly what Toothless had been waiting for.

“ _ He’s coming. _ ”

Toothless pivoted and shot towards the ocean at a breakneck speed, punching a hole in a cloud and nearly colliding with a stray dragon flying through the air at a slow pace. Toothless paid no heed.

Hiccup would need him.

* * *

Hiccup sputtered like a waterspout, choking on a fist of water that had shoved itself down his throat. Another two punches were thrown, one striking his leg and one shoving his chest. It had been a nonstop fight with the water since he had begun his journey back up, and he was lucky to still be standing against the flood.

He found another handhold in the slick wall, and pulled himself up. The scraps of clothing he wore were soaked, so he wiped his face dry with his left hand, then reached forward to search for another divot in the wall; this time, the wall was slick and unblemished.

Sighing, Hiccup looked around in the dusky light. He reached his left hand over to his hooked hand, buried in the wall, and slit his palm on an unoccupied hook. Blood, gold like an elixir of the gods, flowed out, glowing brightly and illuminating his surroundings.

This was one of the things that had occured after his initial healing from the world tree. A piece of crystal had been left inside of his heart, but had disintegrated instead of killing him. Hiccup had found himself cut or bruised often during the forging process, and instead of normal, red blood, it was an orange-gold color, like a god’s lifeblood. It shone with the same light as the crystals did, and (while it didn’t seem to do much else) he felt pride in it. It was another proof that he had survived his trial.

But his trial was not over yet.

With the new light from his blood, Hiccup saw another disconformity in the wall, higher up and shallower than most that he had used before, but it was the only one close enough for him to reach. Setting his feet in a stance against the water, he stepped forward and launched himself towards it. Catching it, swinging from it, and landing took seconds, then he was back in the water again, fistfighting the waves. This pattern would keep its course for hours, at least.

* * *

Fenrir and Toothless watched in awe as a clawed hand caught the edge of the opening to the waterfall, pulling Hiccup up. He fell to the ground, beaten and bruised, and the Night Fury ran to help his friend. The Skrill did not move, thinking to himself.

_ How curious. The human survived, and even brought the chains with him. He has a good eye for material.  _ Fenrir sniffed the air, then narrowed his eyes.  _ But something has changed. He has not received a blessing, but he has certainly become something greater, like tempered metal. _

Fenrir said nothing; he simply watched as the two friends had a long-awaited reunion.

  
  



	17. The Giant's Domain

An unimaginably large creature shifted, far underneath the earth’s surface. It was furious, seething with a lust for blood to sate its anger. 

Nidhogg had never experienced such a slight. In its entire life ―from creation until Ragnarok―it had been a feared, devilish beast. Growing in strength as it devoured the roots of the Yggdrasil tree and taking control over weaker beings with sheer willpower, there should have been none who would dare to defy it. 

And yet, its newest, favorite pawns had been stripped from its grasp. 

It was an insult to the beast’s prestige, its strength, and its authority. Chewing on a dragon unfortunate enough to catch its eye, Nidhogg’s foul mood worsened, bubbling in the pits of its stomach and growing more toxic with each moment. Finally, it shifted its body and lifted its head. Nidhogg roared into the sky, shaking clouds of ash free to unulate down the volcano and shifting deep-seated rocks.

It laid back down with an evil grin as the thousands of dragons hiding in the catacombs flew upwards. The festering rage had disappeared, replaced with an ungodly calmness. It reached out to the farthest reaches of its domain―grabbing ahold of every dragon he could, as it quietly mused:  **“If Hiccup returns, he will find nothing but the torched remains of anything he once knew. He may have won the battle, but I am the only one strong enough to fight a true war.”**

Nidhogg chuckled with a dry, hateful humor; his dragons beginning their journey to attack the many human villages, blotting out the sun with streams of enslaved dragons.

* * *

Hiccup stood, weakly holding himself on two shaking legs, and threw off the chains that he had brought with him. Only two crystals and one slightly withered root remained in what should’ve been a full pack, but he barely frowned at finding this. He was too focused on what was in front of him.

He raised a clawed imitation of an arm and pointed at the Skrill lounging halfway across the cavern, glaring at it. The Skrill raised a nonexistent eyebrow, and stared back into the anger-filled eyes of the human. He took a deep breath, then dropped his arm. 

“What the hell are you?” Hiccup asked weakly. He was undoubtedly at odds with the great Skrill, but after his miserable defeat the first time he had met it, he understood just how strong it was. Even with Toothless’s help, the Skrill would tear through them as if they were training dummies.

“A wise choice, boy.” Fenrir drawled smugly, “at least you have learned to mind your tongue and curb your actions.” Hiccup made no reply, but his facial expression turned ugly―both he and the Skrill knew that him being thrown down the pit had fully been due to no misstep that he had made. The dragon had simply done as it had wanted. 

Irregardless, Hiccup made no reply. He did not take the obvious bait, and let his question hang in the air, unanswered. Seconds passed with no sound but the waterfall behind him as Toothless looked between the two, wondering what he could’ve missed to make these two treat each other so coldly. Finally, the tense atmosphere was broken by Fenrir, with a hearty chuckle that irritated Hiccup even more. The dragon explained everything he had already told Toothless, like blessings, and the spirits of the gods. He explained who he was―Fenrir―and how he had come to live underneath the earth in such a way. He explained Nidhogg and it’s undying, unsurmountable strength. After it all, the two of them―while still at odds―had found a middle ground, a compromising alliance between them.

After all this new knowledge had washed over Hiccup, he sat back and tried to sift through it all. This dragon was, in actuality, an ancient god reborn into its chosen body. Nidhogg was similar, yet even stronger. Hiccup could barely understand it all, and to top if off…

He turned his head sideways and stared at Toothless; the Night Fury, still worried for him, stared back.  _ Toothless has become even more amazing,  _ Hiccup thought,  _ I wonder if I’ll even be able to compare myself to him anymore. _

Hiccup lifted his head slightly towards Fenrir. The dragon, deeply colored as the deep floors of an ocean, lounged in the same space as it had for the past hour, and made no indication that it would move for hours to come. Hiccup opened his mouth, and spoke with a cracking voice.

“D-do you have any food?”

“Feel free to leave with Toothless to hunt. Is this the end of your questioning?”

The dragon replied as curtly as ever, to Hiccup’s chagrin. He opened his mouth again, twisting slightly against the wall as his stomach cramped with emptiness. “Not yet. First, you threw me down the pit to do my ‘trial,’ and now you tell me about god’s blessings? What god chose me? What happens to me now?”

The air around Fenrir changed from one of annoyance to one far more understanding. “You failed, thus your blessing was not completed. You must begin another trial.”

“Then why was I forced to attempt it?” Hiccup did not yell, but a quiet anger was audible in his trembling voice. His body was clenched like a fist, and he glared at the dragon with a face of pure fury.

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy.” Fenrir pierced Hiccup against the stone behind him with a glare like knives; the air of understanding around the dragon had disappeared completely. “I would’ve chosen to leave your body to rot and your bones to break, had it not been for my brother’s request. Do you believe that you could’ve survived that trial without assistance? Your fortitude is far too weak for that,  _ boy _ .” The contempt in his voice had the anger of the ocean in it, and Hiccup felt his fury getting crushed underneath the pressure.

Hiccup gasped out another question: “then, what god has blessed Toothless?”

The pressure was lessened, and Fenrir responded curtly: “I cannot say it in his presence. It is taboo to tell one of the blessed who his benefactor is―but more importantly, you are weak. I will not tell you anything until you are strong enough to protect your friend’s secrets.” Fenrir sniffed unapologetically, turning away with a stubborn look. “I am done answering your questions.”

Hiccup attempted to inquire more, but was ignored. Not only that, but to add insult to injury, lightning would crackle and spark around his feet whenever he attempted to approach the ancient god. In the end, Hiccup collected a half-rotted robe from a long-dead skeleton sitting at the edge of the cavern, and allowed Toothless to pull him away. The two of them flew out together, leaving Fenrir behind in his cave.

The two friends spoke as they flew―although, neither could understand each other quite right. Humans and dragons were never meant to live in tandem. However, the two of them had been controlled by Nidhogg, kept together for months like its new favorite pets. After so long, they understood each other’s body language through instinct as if they could speak to each other, communicating through gestures and vague noises. 

They caught fish, then found an area to sit together comfortably next to a fire. Hiccup leaned against his scaly companion, and felt a peaceful silence between them. They watched the sky meld from blue to a kaleidoscope of oranges, then to a blackness stippled with stars, creating calm shadows over the frothing ocean painted with dark colors underneath it.

It was a calm way to spend time after such a hard pressed week underneath the earth. Hiccup could imagine himself staying like this for months, far from the conflict of home, far from Nidhogg’s spidery fingers, far from anything that could interrupt their time together. Just peaceful bliss.

Unfortunately, that was not the future that lay in store for the two of them.

It was morning when they woke, the sunrise hidden by the stone backing that they had slept against. The two of them would have slept longer, in fact―but a voice rang out in both of their heads, calling for them to immediately return to the caverns. 

Fenrir.

Toothless glided languidly over the water with Hiccup on his back, the two of them enjoying themselves before they had the chance to be chastised by an ancient god for whatever the reason. Their freedom seemed to make the air smell fresher, make the world brighter, and not even the prospect of getting yelled at by Fenrir was not enough to dampen their moods.

* * *

“I’ve arranged for you to live elsewhere while I train Toothless.”

When the two of them arrived, these were the first words that were spoken to them. Hiccup, sliding off the Night Fury and shifting in place to keep his balance, jerked his head towards Fenrir with a confused look on his face; the dragon looked back, his face stony as it always was, like an emotionless wall.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken with an acquaintance of mine, he’s much more accepting of,” Fenrir’s lip curled slightly as he spoke, “ _ humankind. _ You leave now. Gather your things, few as they are, and I will guide you there.”

“Wait, wait.” Hiccup put up his hands (rather, his hand and his disformed claw) and stepped back slightly. “Why so urgent? I know you don’t like me, but why―”

“I’ll interrupt you there, boy.” Fenrir cut in, then continued, “you may have failed your trial, but your body has changed drastically during your time in the root’s cavern: both your body’s strength, and the new limbs. You need training of your own that I cannot, and will not, give. But more importantly, Toothless has changed.” he paused, then after a thought, spoke. “Remind me how long you were in the cavern boy?

Hiccup cocked his head to the side in confusion, but answered regardless: “I’d say one week, approximately.”

“I thought so. Since then, it has been five weeks for us outside. Toothless’s integration with his blessing is completed, and for him to use it to his full potential, he will need a mentor. I plan to be that mentor―and as his mentor, I believe that you would be detrimental to his growth.

Hiccup heard this, and a red, hot anger like lightning flashed into his head. Disregarding the fact that this was an ancient beast from the times of gods and demons, he roared at the Skrill: “You can’t do this! Toothless and I will stay together, and we don’t need your god damn training or anything―we can just stay away from trouble. We aren’t going to listen to this shit―not coming from a washed-up god who hasn’t left his cave for the past millennia!

Hiccup stopped and breathed heavily after that outburst, and a dead, cold silence grew between himself and Fenrir. He looked at the beast, and it stared back with an icy rage incomparable to even Nidhogg’s outbursts. Hiccup looked to the side, hoping Toothless would back him up, but only saw a regretful confusion in his eyes.

“Toothless has already agreed to this.” Fenrir spoke quietly. “We leave now. Pick up your things before you no longer have the chance to,  _ boy. _ ”

* * *

In the end, Hiccup had no choice. He sat upon Toothless as they flew across the ocean, the midday mist scratching at his skin and air far colder on his face than it had been when he had woken up. Gripping the chains, crystals, and root tight in his arms, he watched as a hulking mountain grew as they flew towards it. 

It was as if it were created by a godly sculptor, made in the image of the purest cold night. Lightly colored stone reached high into the sky, almost completely covered by great flows of ice jutting out in fearsome spikes. The mountain had a rounded top collapsing in on itself, accentuating the sharp prongs of the ice that seemed to explode outwards from inside it. When Hiccup looked closer, he even saw dragons lounging among the topmost of the icy spikes. He wondered absentmindedly what strange creature could have made ice in such a bizarre formation.

The three of them circled around the mountain, landing on a snow-covered expanse covering a wash of smooth-sided rocks in a makeshift beach. Looking out, there was an unstoppable expanse of white glaciers bloating the ocean. Fenrir growled at Hiccup―no longer even giving him the luxury of speech―and the boy dismounted from his dragon. He reached over to give Toothless a wish of good luck, but the Skrill growled angrily and lifted from the ground. Toothless gave one look back, full of regret and farewells. Hiccup returned the look, waving to his friend.

He watched them fly off, faster than he had ever seen any dragon fly.

Then, he turned to the mountain.

It reached for the sky, giant and peaceful. It loomed over him, but did not feel unsafe or unwelcoming, simply calm. A chill wafted through the air, the ocean gurgled contentedly as it washed up and down the rocky shore, and Hiccup pulled the robe stiff around his body, shivering. Finally, after surveying his surroundings to his fullest extent, he moved forward to find a way into the gigantic mountain―to find who Fenrir had “arranged” for him to live with.

He moved forward, unaware of two wary pairs of eyes watching him from the clouds. 

* * *

The chilled air from the skies followed Hiccup as he investigated the mountain. First he attempted to climb it, but these attempts were quickly discarded, as the stone was slick with ice and dirt, making the near-vertical slopes impossible to climb. His next attempt was to walk around the mountain, hoping to find a cave of some sort, as he always seemed to on strange, deserted islands.

An hour later, he was still on his first rotation around the mountain. This island was simply far larger than any he had ever been stranded on: Fenrir’s rocky spire, Nidhogg’s unholy volcano―this island was nearly the size of Berk’s main mountain.

As he walked, his makeshift shoe for his still-human foot twisted uncomfortably with dampness and grime. He had ripped some strips off of his newly acquired robe, and tied them around a convenient piece of flat stone in the shape of a foot. If, of course, that foot was giant and misshapen. Nevertheless, it was the best that he had.

And thus, Hiccup walked on. The stone of the mountain wavered in and out, sometimes standing at the edge of the ocean, other times retreating far away, leaving stone and icy snow and long-frozen grass between it and the water. It was a peaceful journey, albeit far slower than if he had all of his limbs; his peg leg had been made for climbing jagged rocks―ironically, the calm snow was far harder for him to traverse.

Finally, he began to find it.

It was not all of a sudden, but instead, was faint like a warm breath in the open air. Hiccup noticed small things first: a dragon’s footsteps along the snow, scorch marks along a high alcove, the faraway cry of dragons. He kept moving forward, but cautiously, quietly, and alert. Fenrir had not told him who he would stay with, so why couldn’t it be a dragon?

Time passed slowly for Hiccup, yet the day seemed to blink by in minutes as he crept closer to where he believed the tracks and noises originated. As he rounded the last curve of ice-covered stone, he found...nothing. Just more ice, more snow, more empty space filled by a bright and empty sky.

As he stood, wondering what to do without more beach to walk upon, another screech reverbated from inside the ice―louder, and clearly closer. Confused, he began to move forward, skirting along the edge of the icy cliff reaching upwards. When he reached an icy slope, Hiccup stomped his spiked peg leg into the frozen ground and hefted himself forward.

When he slid to a stop, Hiccup saw a maw of giant tooth-like icicles guarding the entrance to a shadowy cave. Although, calling it a cave wouldn’t quite be accurate―instead, a tunnel, or a passage to something more important. Hiccup could tell, there was something on the other end of it.

Hiccup took a breath of frigid air into his lungs, then breathed out a small cloud filled with hope and fear. He slipped between two pillars of ice, then walked deeper into the depths, anchoring himself on the slippery floor with each step of his peg leg.

Far above, the two pairs of eyes that had been observing him all this time flew up, then swooped into a hidden entrance near the top of the mountain. 

* * *

Hiccup was in a predicament.

It was a rare occurrence for him to find a dragon that showed intelligence, but here he was―surrounded by dragons that all had that telltale light in their eyes. Every move, every twitch of his muscles drove the dragons to a ruckus all around him. He stood still, hunched over and watched by dozens of dragons clamoring all over the ground and the walls. The ice, normally a cloud-white color, was grey and orange in the darkness, reflecting shadows and fire dancing from the insides of some dragons’ mouths.

Hiccup breathed slowly and as unmovingly as possible, making his best attempts to not aggravate the dragons around him. Most flitted about, unconcerned with the intruder, but still watching. Others stood like stones, watching the slightest moves with an angry expression on their unexpressive faces.

Slowly, slowly, like a glacier’s gradual yet undeniable movement, Hiccup moved closer to the ring of dragons. He moved nearly imperceptibly, like the clouds on a windless night, raising his hand (his left hand―no need to aggravate the dragons even more with his clawed hand) and bringing it closer to the dragon that seemed to be the greatest. It was not one he had seen in the Dragon Manual back at Berk, so it must’ve been a rather uncommon dragon; it had four brown wings that sprawled outward, holding it’s large body up and a smashed-looking face, flatter than most dragons’ faces, that receded into a frill on its neck. Hiccup moved towards the creature, and reached his hand out.

He held his breath. And he waited.

The dragon, curious like a bird but cautious like one as well, knelt down further, shifting slightly to the side to observe the small human in front of him. Hiccup, tense and still like age-old stone, watched warily through half-closed eyes. 

But to his surprise, a bright, perfect laugh burst out, echoing all around him in a bewildering cage of sound. Off the four-winged dragon hopped a humanoid figure, fully enclothed in dragon-like armor. The figure was taller than him, but had a wiry figure―and even then, as Hiccup looked upon them, he could tell that the armor made them seem much larger than they actually were.

“There’s no need to worry, Hiccup. This,” the masked figure reached up to rub the large dragon’s head, then continued speaking, “is Cloudjumper.”

“I’m sorry, but...who are you?”

The figure seemed to deflate ever so slightly, but replied in the same upbeat voice. “Follow me, and I’ll tell you. Don’t worry―Fenrir’s told me all about you. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” The figure turned, and as they walked away, so did all the dragons around. Hiccup followed unquestioningly. This was, at the very least, better than being alone.

Their procession was silent, only footsteps could be heard as they all walked down the tunnel of strangely-shaped stone creating unpredictable patterns and twists in the passageway. After a minute of walking, however, there was no ice, just stony walls jutting strangely into the open. The tunnel began to curve outwards, becoming larger and larger until finally, they were no longer inside an enclosed space.

The masked figure turned to Hiccup and spread their arms wide, and even covered by the mask, their jubilant expression was shining. Hiccup’s mouth dropped, and he nearly fell over in pure shock.

The sight was breathtaking―but how to describe it? The sight Hiccup saw was beautiful and alive, green and breathing, fertile and moving. It could be said that this land―this perfect haven―was the exact opposite of Nidhogg’s domain. Nilfheim, the land of the dead, was cold and dead and full of sorrow. Nidhogg ruled with an unyielding gaze, putting any and all living creatures around under its control. Here, however―

“This is the Haven,” spoke the masked figure. Even with the imposing gear, in the kaleidoscopic light they looked much less intimidating. Continuing speaking, the figure pulled their mask off to reveal...a woman? 

“This is where you will stay, Hiccup. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like, but only once I’ve explained everything to you. There are rules, and you will be punished just as heavily as any other for breaking them.” Her voice was stern, but there was an undertone of something else far warmer behind the sternness. 

“Do...do I know you?” Hiccup spoke quietly, unsure of his own words. And yet, there was something else―a deja vu from seeing this woman’s face. It was as if he were looking into a murky, disturbed pool of water, and the view he was seeing was just a bit altered. He didn’t have any memory of this woman, but she seemed familiar like nothing else ever had to him.

She paused, then slouched down slightly. “No...you wouldn’t.” Her eyes darted up to meet his and smiled a small, sad smile. “But a mother never forgets.”

* * *

Hiccup waited patiently in a side-cave, running his mind over everything he had learned in the past hour. In that hour, he had arrived at a dragon’s sanctuary, met his long-lost mother, and come face-to-face with another blessed individual―this one far more awe-inspiring than any other he had seen before.

_ Once his mother had revealed to him who she was, questions began budding in every corner of his mind. He stood, half-comprehending it all, wondering what to say next. What do you say to your mother―or anyone, for that matter―who has been missing for far longer than you can remember? _

_ Hiccup opened his mouth to speak, but Valka put her hand up to her mouth, raising one finger to indicate silence and shushing him quietly. She beckoned him to the edge, standing on it herself and looking away from him, into the expanse that was the Haven. He stepped confidently to the edge, looking out with her. _

_ “This,” she had quietly announced, as if not to disturb the calm air full of dragons. “Is the home of the great Bewilderbeast.” _

_ Hiccup looked down into the water-filled chasm to find the greatest dragon he had ever seen―the size of a small mountain, white speckled with black like the tip of a mountain had come alive. Valka continued, “The alpha species _ :  _ one of the few that still exist. Every nest has it’s queen, but this is a king in more ways than just name. King of the dragons and the giants.” _

_ Hiccup paused at this, and turned to meet his mother’s eyes. “The giants as well?” _

_ “Indeed. Deities choose the most exemplary among the mortal world to be their vessels, so why would they be picky, or squabble over successors? Blessings are not as rare as you would think, although most are given by lesser deities who have little to give. But he,” Valka gestured at the half-awake Bewilderbeast, “has the blessing of Ymir, the oldest and wisest of all giants, the flesh that created the nine worlds.” _

_ The two of them began to walk down a short slope: Hiccup looking around in wonder, trying to take it all in, and Valka continuing her introduction. “He was once a creature driven by chaos, but after millennia of waiting, he simply wants peace. With his icy breath, this gentle giant built our nest. A safe haven for dragons everywhere. We all live under his care and his command.” _

_ As a small flock of dragons flew by, disturbing the bewilderbeast enough to shake it out of its slumber. It moved slowly and solidly, like an immutable shard of the deepest ocean, bleached white after thousands of years. It lifted itself to look upon the two of them, and Valka knelt in return; Hiccup stood unsteadily, unsure what to do underneath its small, wise eyes staring him down. He felt a pressure similar to that near Fenrir or Nidhogg, but it was kind and unoppressive.  _

_ The Bewilderbeast stared down at him, expressionless and silent. After some time, it turned away, walking off into a different area to rest. Hiccup turned to his mother, and she chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you, dear. He did agree to your stay, after all.” She hadn’t quite looked him in the eyes. _

_ The two of them walked down a winding path of ice and plantlife, talking about small things: life on Berk, life in the Haven, their dragons, their interests. It was a much easier conversation than any he had had with his father. Finally, Valka stopped. _

_ “This is where you will be staying.” She gestured in front of her, showing a small cave, dimly lit by light filtering through an icy ceiling. It was snug and calm. “As long as you adhere to the rules I have laid out for you, you may stay in the haven as long as you wish. However, Fenrir had a condition for you to complete before you return to his cavern.” Hiccup swiveled around to look at her, and her posture was icy stern. “You are to become stronger. He did not specify how, or why, or how much, but he was perfectly clear nonetheless.” _

_ Hiccup was silent, turning towards the cave in front of him. After a minute of silence, he turned to ask Valka something―but she was already gone, leaving him to his own thoughts. He walked forward, laid down his things, and thought. _

Now, he sat quietly and ran his hands over the few keepsakes he had with him: the crystal, the small strip of Yggdrasil root, and the chains magically bound to him. Over and over in his mind, he asked himself:  _ how can I become stronger _ ? 

It was not that he had no leads. For one thing, an obvious first step would be to refine his metal limbs. Hiccup already had ideas on how to amend it, to combine it’s usage with a new and updated dragonskin armor (since the previous version was no doubt in pieces somewhere on dragon island). But what could he do after that?

The distant cries of dragons distracted him briefly, and he stretched himself out on the damp bed of moss he had made for himself. He was tired physically and mentally, and knew that the next few days would be difficult. Technically, he knew that he could give himself time to rest, but every day he did not work himself to the bone, Toothless would leave him farther and farther behind. Eventually he wouldn’t even be able to stand next to his partner.

“Hiccup?” Valka’s voice echoed slightly in the small cave as she entered. “The dragons are beginning to leave for feeding time. Would you accompany me? I have something to show you.”

* * *

The two of them, sitting gently on Cloudjumper’s back, watched as hundreds of dragons swooped to catch fish in their mouths. The Bewilderbeast had taken its time to catch a whole school of fish, then throw it into the air for its subjects to devour. It was a chaotic feeding frenzy that far outstripped anything Hiccup had seen before (although if an outsider was to watch a group of Vikings eat, they could easily confuse the two).

The group of dragons hit an updraft, allowing them all to float effortlessly. Valka stood, and Hiccup watched as she began to walk among the dragons with the ease of a bird. She turned, hooked onto one with her staff, and her dance continued. She fell and caught and spun like a dancer in the bright yellow of midday. Finally, she completed her dance by landing back on Cloudjumper―Hiccup had been so amazed by her progression that he was surprised to find her back on the dragon once again.

“This is my world, Hiccup. I’ve lived here for years, with a different family that never could have held peace with the Berkians. It’s been my eternal regret that I wasn’t there for you, watching you grow and mature―I thought it was for the best. But now,” Valka turned and looked out among the floating dragons, then continued, “you have come back to me. Can I introduce you to my world, Hiccup? Can you let me make up all this time that I’ve let you down, deserted you, and given you up for this life?”

She turned to Hiccup, and after a moment of thought he opened his mouth to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mythology for this chapter is:
> 
> Ymir was the first giant, long before Odin or Thor. In the barren land before time, the next giants formed from his sweat. He was eventually killed by Odin, and his body was used to form the nine worlds. 
> 
> One thing to point out is that the Nidhogg section at the beginning of this chapter happened chronologically (according to this story) before this chapter, closer to when Hiccup and Toothless were knocked from its control. 


	18. The Strength of One

Hiccup woke from a deep, restless sleep on a cold bed of moss in the middle of nowhere ― nowhere according to most Viking maps, at least. Most tribes didn’t bother themselves to get this far north. That being said, Hiccup found himself in the middle of said nowhere ―in a hollow, dragon-infested mountain. Flickering light filtered through the ice that made up half of his cave wall, and his cave was half-illuminated with morning light.

Hiccup shifted uncomfortably, then closed his eyes again. As soon as he had, however, a quiet noise woke him again: “Hiccup?” He shifted and squinted his eyes at his mother, fully awake at the break of dawn. With a grunt, he huddled a bit more underneath the robe he had used as a blanket. He heard no footsteps approaching or leaving, and he tried to stay still, barely breathing.

After a long, dragging few minutes, Hiccup shifted, opening his eyes a fraction and looking towards the entrance of his cave. Through his eyelashes he saw Cloudjumper hanging in front of the entrance, taking up more than half of the entrance with his bulk. Next to the dragon sat his mother in her fearsome-looking dragon armor, complete with the horned mask and clawed appendages. The way she sat implied sleep, but he doubted that she had even closed her eyes.

Hiccup frowned, then shifted. Sitting up, he yawned, “g’morning, Valka.” His mother’s head twitched to the side at the sound of his voice (he noticed she had removed her mask), and she stood up, walking into his cave. “Hello, Hiccup. Did you sleep well? I’ve found you some clothes, and I’ve-” She spoke quickly and quietly, like someone would speak when nervous or under pressure. Hiccup had to strain to hear and understand everything she said as she jabbered on, and eventually cut her off.

“Valka, ah, thank you. Would you mind leaving while I put on the clothes?” Cutting off her ramblings seemed to clear her mind, and she left. Hiccup rushed to put on the new clothes―clothes that weren’t quite as ripped and disgusting, and taking great care not to rip them with his artificial limbs. To his great surprise, however, there were a few different outfits, each with their own colors and styles. He recognized none of them. Eventually, after he had clothed himself in one of the outfits and put the others to the side, he exited the cave, finding his mother waiting outside.

“Where did you get these, Valka?” Hiccup inquired, pointing to darkly colored shirt and pants. “I don’t know the stitch or the fabric on either.” His mother shifted uncomfortably at the question. 

“That’s...I’ll show you, eventually. It’s not for you to know now. How are you feeling?” She still spoke as if the words were rushing out of her, but she sounded calmer now, less like a startled animal and more like a human. “You’re ready to learn about the Haven, I hope?”

Hiccup answered with a smile.

* * *

First, Valka brought him to a few, important places in the Haven. The cleanest waterfall for drinking, the pond where fish washed in but couldn’t get out, the groves where certain medicinal plants grew, and others. She showed him the paths she had created and how to traverse them. Hiccup began to point out dragons that he had seen in the dragon manual, and Valka responded in turn by pointing out dozens of dragons he had never seen. 

The first thing that truly cemented in Hiccup’s mind, however, was that Berk―and all other viking tribes he knew of―was far away, and he had no means of returning until he was reunited with Toothless. 

Valka had begun to tell him which dragons might fit his personality, the ones he would be able to befriend and train, but Hiccup resisted this idea. He already had Toothless, he told her―he didn’t want another dragon. After a short dispute, they dropped the subject, but Hiccup could tell that it would be brought up again. They walked quietly through the Haven, with curious dragons all about, looking on from a distance away.

Valka broke their stagnant silence first. “How...how has Stoick been, all these years? Has he been well? Has he…” She trailed off, but her mouth kept moving around silent words. Still walking forward, she turned back to see Hiccup’s answer.

“He―well, he…” Hiccup hesitated to answer. How could he tell his mother that Stoick had become hard, like cold steel, after she had been taken? How could he explain the viking-like anger that seemed to fuel all of his actions? “He’s as stoic as always. A brilliant viking, although not quite as gentle as he used to be, apparently. According to Gobber, he never quite got over your abduction. A bit rougher around the edges, I suppose…”

Valka seemed to age a decade after hearing that, but somehow didn’t show it. It was in her eyes and her breath, so fait that Hiccup almost missed it, but there nonetheless. She turned around once again, facing forward. “And how is Gobber? I’ve missed my old friend―is he still as grisly as always?”

Hiccup chuckled, and the tense atmosphere between them dissipated. They began to talk once again, this time far more lightheartedly―both of them quietly avoiding the topic of how Stoick had become. One in fear of finding out, and one in fear of telling.

After another hour of climbing and walking on slim pathways, Valka raised her staff into the air and caught Cloudjumper’s outstretched claw. With a strength disproportionate to her size, she hauled herself and Hiccup onto the dragon’s back, and the three of them flew up a sheer cliffside. Suddenly, with a jerk that nearly threw Hiccup off, Cloudjumper hooked onto the wall of stone. Valka, still holding onto Hiccup with an iron grip, reached out with her staff and hooked into a handhold carved into stone. The two of them swung into a hole in the stone, and Valka let go of Hiccup, letting him tumble into it, painfully rolling across a smooth stone floor.

Groaning, Hiccup opened his eyes and sat upwards. The small cave was dimly lit―similar to his own, but the icy crystal on the wall was smaller, and the sun was not shining directly through it. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to make out shapes in the dark: a jumbled mess of rough blankets, a crudely built shelf. The more he looked around, the more he saw. 

“This is where I live. What do you think?” Valka crouched in the entrance and smiled in at Hiccup. With her dragon armor on, she looked more demonic than anything, but Hiccup still smiled back. “Now,” she said, crawling in and making herself at home in a nest of blankets. “It’s your turn to tell me about where you live.”

Hiccup quirked his head to the side, and Valka smiled understandingly. “May I hear your story, Hiccup? How did you end up befriending a Night Fury while on Berk, then leave, encounter both Nidhogg and Fenrir, and finally land here, in the Haven? I’d certainly like to hear your journey, if you don’t mind.”

Hiccup nodded silently, then began his story. Beginning far earlier than his first meeting with Toothless, he told Valka about his first encounter with an intelligent dragon, and how he had outsmarted it. He detailed the creeping shadow that had wormed its way into his mind, and how he had used its knowledge to his own gain. He explained his machinery, his cove, and how he had accidentally baited Toothless into his trap. From there, it felt like no time at all―he told about fixing Toothless’s tail, the darkness in his mind taking over, his encounter with Nidhogg, and his brainwashing. Valka began to nod understandingly when she heard about his troubles, but did not interrupt him. Finally, Hiccup finished with his trials on Fenrir’s island (and cavern), explaining how he got his crude metal arm and leg. Once he finished his story, a thick silence pressed down upon the two of them.

“I...I wish I could’ve been there for you, Hiccup. You’ve gone through so much―much more than most grown Vikings have had the chance to go through. But thank you for sharing your story with me. Because of it, I know how to help you grow stronger.” Valka stretched and rolled herself out of a mess of blankets, and gestured for Hiccup to follow her out.

The two of them clung to Cloudjumper’s back as the great dragon glided through the chilled air of the Haven. Hiccup hadn’t noticed the passing time, but as he looked up, he noticed that the crystalline ice that made up much of the roof and walls shone with a much warmer, weaker light.  _ It must be evening, maybe twilight _ , thought Hiccup absently.

“Do you have somewhere that I could forge myself a new arm and leg? I found some interesting metal in Fenrir’s cavern, and I think that’s a good first step towards becoming stronger.” Hiccup asked Valka quietly, seeing nests of dragons sleeping not far from where they flew. “I bonded it to myself with my blood, and I think it has some special properties to it…” He trailed off but kept talking quietly to himself.

Valka tilted her head to see behind her, but did not look Hiccup in the eye. “Interesting. I agree, that would certainly be a step in the right direction, but that will not be your first step, as you said. I have a plan for you.” Hiccup frowned slightly, noting a change in her demeanor―it felt colder, as if they were strangers again.

He looked over Cloudjumper’s wings, out at the dimly lit cliffs and plateaus underneath them. He didn’t recognize any of them as areas they had explored earlier in the day, but he waved off his concern as simply not recognizing them from farther above. Not too long later, Valka leaned forward and whispered something into Cloudjumper’s ear and they began to descend. They landed, and the two of them dismounted.

“Where is this, Valka? I don’t recognize it from anytime earlier today.” Hiccup looked around, half-expecting to be back in front of his cave, but finding nothing but unfamiliar plants and stones. 

“You’ve survived this long, which is impressive,” Valka began to speak, and Hiccup turned towards her. She stood next to Cloudjumper, relaxed and tense at the same time. “But one trial is not enough. You’ve been through pain, but there is more than that to survival, especially if you are to grow stronger.” She seemed to be rambling, but Hiccup did not interrupt. An uneasy feeling was beginning to grow in his stomach.

“It’s a long way back. I could cross the entire haven in two―no, three days. Less if I received a dragon’s help. I estimate for you...it’ll take two weeks, at least.”

“Wait, wait,” Hiccup finally interrupted, “What are you talking about, Valka?”

Lithely climbing onto Cloudjumper once more, she pulled her mask off her back and secured it once again. “I believe in learning on the job. Good luck, Hiccup.” She tapped Cloudjumper’s head lightly, and the two of them began to lift off.

“Odin damn it…”

Hiccup was beginning to see why his mother and Gobber had been friends, back in the day. 

* * *

It was morning, and Hiccup was barely able to keep his eyes open. 

For fear of being attacked by a dragon passing by, he had spent most of the night hiding in crevices and vegetation, with little to no luck staying in one place at a time. Light scattered through the ice crystals making up a nearby chunk of the wall, giving off white beams of morning light. He was on a rather high cliff, without waterfalls or vegetation spilling off of it.  _ It was probably a purposeful choice to set me here _ , he thought spitefully towards his mother,  _ did she even consider that I’ll have to climb down with only two whole limbs? _

While he had certainly made his two limbs for climbing, they were ill-fitted for the stone formations in the Haven. The crystalline cavern he had escaped from had jagged, pointing crystals and outcroppings; the Haven had smooth stone and ice, topped with a thin layer of soil. It would be both dangerous and difficult for him to try and climb down the cliffsides.

Worst of all, Hiccup didn’t even know which way to go. The three of them had taken a convoluted, twisting path when arriving, and when Valka flew off, they flew in an entirely different direction to the way they had come. 

“She’s really made this difficult, hasn’t she.” Hiccup grumbled to himself. He walked to the edge of the cliff and peeked over it, seeing a dangerous hope: a clear pool of water, with at least three house’s worth of distance between them. He stepped back and frowned, then backed further away, hiding in a crevice as a couple of dragons flew by. As he hid, he considered his options: he could attempt to scale the cliffside, but that was unlikely to bear fruit. He could attempt to find a usable path across the cliffs from one to another, but the paths he saw were slim, fragile, and looked as dangerous as climbing the cliffs sounded. He could try jumping into the pool below, but...Hiccup shook his head. That was the worst idea yet.

He had one last idea that he threw back and forth in his mind―one his mother had planted in his head with some of her parting words:  _ I could cross the entire haven in two―no, three days. Less if I received a dragon’s help _ . A dragon’s help? Had she said this purposefully, or was this a slip of the tongue on her part? 

Hiccup sat still, hiding in his rocky crevice and hoping a dragon would land nearby. He hoped it would come soon, seeing that he hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. He sat still, and thought.

By midday, a small handful of dragons had landed on his cliffside, and he had approached only one of those. One might think that he should try his luck with any dragon he saw―and those kinds of people would be the first to be torched, clawed, or generally injured by said dragons. Hiccup wanted at least one of two criteria: a dragon that he was familiar with, or a dragon that seemed calm and harmless enough for him to approach easily. He doubted that he would find a dragon fitting both.

He had approached a brightly-colored Deadly Nadder that seemed to be shedding its scales and looking for a place to rest while doing so. That had ended poorly; he had approached too quickly and too straightforwardly. He felt it was fair to blame the Nadder’s temperament for half of his failure, but nevertheless, Hiccup had begun to rethink his strategy regarding approaching dragons.

Another hour passed. One large, imposing dragon landed on his cliffside, and Hiccup held his breath for what seemed like forever. Eventually, it flew off, and he was able to breathe again. A flock of Terrible Terrors passed by, and their collective screeches grated against his ears. Dragons were all around, and yet it was surprisingly calm. Naming it the Haven was surprisingly accurate, Hiccup was coming to realize.

Past midday but not yet evening, Hiccup had another chance to try and approach a dragon. A slow-flying and wiry-framed dragon glided down, curling around itself and away from Hiccup. He barely moved, in fear of startling it, but breathed out a quiet analysis of the dragon: “ _ it has a metallic, platelike scale formation all over its body, probably has high defensive abilities. Spikes on its tail, a horn on its snout, but mostly sleek. Smaller than a Nadder, four-legged, and long mouth...hopefully no fire. This is worth a try. _ ”

Hiccup crawled slowly out of his hiding spot and began to creep towards the dragon. It was still turned away from him, crooning at something small and in front of it―hopefully its dinner, so he wouldn’t be. He walked slowly, crouched and hand outstretched, imitating how he had seen Valka approach her dragons. He barely breathed, air hissing in and out of his throat anxiously.

Suddenly, the dragon perked its head up. Its eyes were narrowed into slits and a low growl trembled through the air. Hiccup froze, stiller than the stone he stood on.

It uncurled itself and stood up, seeming to grow in size as it approached Hiccup, growling louder as it moved. He jumped backwards in surprise, and the dragon retaliated with a screech. Both were frightened by the other, but only one was in a position to fight. As it jumped forward, Hiccup raised his arms in front of him and looked frantically around for something to protect himself with.

Instead, he saw two small, similar-looking dragons. Their scales were duller and their eyes were only half open―they were children, maybe even baby dragons. Hiccup’s eyes widened, and he cursed, not at the dragon leaping towards him, but at himself for not noticing them. 

The silvery mother dragon twisted, and her tail swung around to spear Hiccup with her tail spines. Instead, she caught Hiccup’s right arm, and the impact threw his metal arm against his face. He spun away, and his momentum threw him to the edge of the cliff. He teetered for a second, trying to catch his balance, but to no avail. He fell forward just as the mother dragon swung her tail at his head, missing by barely an inch. He clenched his teeth, seeing the water pooled at the bottom of the cliff, and hoped that it was deep enough for him to survive a fall.

  
  



	19. Steel and Strategy

Stoick and Spitelout stood stiffly at the bow of  _ Valkyrie's Fury _ , the silence growing stale between them. The air was too still to provide enough wind in their sails, so they had a platoon of their men rowing, while others rested. They were nearing the shore of the Berserker’s Island ―the floating piles of wrecked boats welcomed them.

Generally speaking, the Viking clans of the Archipelago met twice per year for a Viking Assembly. They got together to discuss trades, alliances, and strategies against the dragons. More often than not, these meetings ended with heated arguments and promises to never come to the meetings ever again. This was an unusual third meeting, however, to speak about the recent attacks: both of dragons and humans. On such short notice, not all the chiefs could meet; just the Berkians, Berserkers, Bog-Burglars, Visithugs and Meatheads.

Stoick groaned quietly in anticipation of five of the most volatile groups in the Archipelago meeting unexpectedly.

Not long after they passed the wreckage, they scraped up on a rocky shore. The island that the Berserkers chose to live on was a bit of an oddity―even by Viking standards, it was absurdly rocky and tough, and had barely any permanent buildings. They lived in a surprisingly organized chaos, families moving about the island on a semi-decided schedule. There were farms and wild animals, but most of their livelihood came from fishing. The Berserker’s danger wasn’t their fighting prowess (although that was fearsome as well), it was their tenacious ability to survive no matter what hellish situation they were put through. 

Stoick leaped off the front of the boat, and half of the crew followed his lead. The other half stayed behind, cleaning and performing maintenance on the boat. Stoick had ordered it so―based off his own experience, it was never smart to leave a boat unmanned, even on an allied island. He remembered his second Viking Assembly, in which he got back to Berk before he realized they were missing their extra sails, shields, oars and his shoes. He still didn’t know who had managed to steal them off his feet, although he had strong suspicions towards the Bog-Burglar tribe.

The air was cold and damp, similar to Helheim’s Gate but without the fog... and without the dragons. Looking around, Stoick saw two other boats a distance away, one with the crest of the Meatheads and the other with the crest of the Bog-Burglars. They both had a small crew manning each of their ships, but the majority of the groups were not around. Stoick gestured to his group and began a silent walk towards the Berserker’s Great Hall.

Not too far from the shore, they reached a path. It was barely different from the tough soil and rock that built Berserker Island, but it was packed and led further into the island. Without a discerning eye, it would easily be missed. Stoick adjusted his mental map to fit the path, then began walking down it. His Viking entourage trailed behind him quietly.

Astrid was one of the Vikings trailing behind Stoick; Tuffnut was as well. The two of them had become far greater in the ten months since Hiccup’s disappearance―enough to be numbered among Berk’s elites. On one hand, Astrid had become a fighter rivaling any seasoned Viking, and was rumored to have some divine blessing. It was nonsense, of course, but she was no doubt the greatest rising star of their generation. Tuffnut, on the other hand, had become an invaluable strategist on Berk―planning clever ways to repel dragons or fortify their town. After near-destruction of the Thorston clan, he had dragged it back from the brink of Hel nearly singlehandedly, astonishing the entire island.

Stoick often brought the two of them into meetings on Berk, but this meeting showed clearly how important they were to him. Only a few representatives from each family were brought, and only the core members were brought into the meeting. It was an honor for both them and their families to be brought along.

After some time walking down the dirt-packed road, the Berkians came across a low-roofed building with dim shadows moving about inside. They approached, and as they came to the door, it was flung open. Dagur the Deranged stood in the doorway, looking as regal as a chief, and grinning like a madman. “Stoick!” he guffawed, “I’m as glad as always to see you, old man!”

“And how glad is that, Dagur?”

“Not very, unfortunately.”

“Likewise.” Stoick replied curtly. Dagur just chuckled at his own joke and gestured for them to follow him.

Inside, the hall showed a greater size than it seemed to have from the outside; it was built into the ground in a deceptive manner. A group of burly men were arguing with a cluster of women built like oxen―the muscle and the hair included. They were the Meatheads and the Bog-Burglars, respectively. A few Berserkers that Stoick recognized from previous meetings were scattered around the room, but their numbers were far fewer than any of the other tribes.

“All right now you ogres, let’s all gather around the fire. I know you’re high-strung, but this is no time for petty conflicts.” Dagur chided the two arguing tribes with surprisingly clear insight, and they calmed themselves. The three tribes and Dagur each took their places around the bonfire, pinning long shadows onto the walls behind them. 

“Where are the Visithugs? Should we be convening without them?” asked Ivar the Boneless, chief of the Meatheads. He was nearly as broad as Stoick, and slightly taller. His frown was covered partially by an unkempt beard, although his disapproval was clear to all. Despite his name, he was a surprisingly adept individual, although a bit stiff at times.

“They’re on course, but they’ll be here a bit later. We, ah, ‘met up with’ a scouting ship they sent ahead. Apparently, they were bringing something―or someone―of great interest.” Big-Boobied Bertha responded in a nonchalant tone. She and all her amazonian Vikings behind her did not seem nervous at all, even when admitting to waylaying (and likely burgling) an allied ship. Ivar opened his mouth to respond, but Stoick cut him off.

“We can start now. The Visithugs can be informed of what they missed when they arrive. I want to get to business.” Stoick straightened up and narrowed his eyes at the surrounding Vikings. “I was told that I was not the only chief requesting another meeting. Who else?”

“You and Ivar, Stoick. And the Visithugs at a more recent date.” Dagur responded, the twinkle of madness leaving his eye, replaced by a stern gaze of a chief. “All of you have reported more dragon raids, and more frequent as well. Do you have any precedent for them?

“None at all,” grumbled Ivar. “Not only that, the beasts are even attacking trade ships that they used to ignore. Word’s got around, and now we haven’t had a new trader for weeks.” Stoick nodded in agreement―even trader Johann had begun searching for safer routes.

Bertha raised her hand a bit to catch the chiefs’ attentions, then questioned: “I’m not fully caught up with the issue here, boys. Dragons attack, and they always have, and they always will. Why worry about more of the same?”

Stoick frowned in annoyance, then replied, “You don’t understand, Bertha. For the past, eh, nine or so months,” he looked at Ivar, who nodded in agreement, “the dragons came in greater numbers, acting agitated and unpredictable. But for the past month, it’s been hell―dragon attacks three times a week, with no regard for their own hides. We can’t survive as we’ve always survived while the dragons bombard us. I―and I’m sure Ivar as well―barely had the time to come to this meeting.” Bertha’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded in understanding, seeing the picture much clearer now.

“You two can’t think of anything that could’ve aggravated the dragons? I find it hard to believe that they would attack so fervently for no reason other than insanity.”

The quip set off a round of arguing, and the four chiefs’ voices barraged the surrounding Vikings. While it was not unexpected, it was disappointing to see it so quickly devolve into a shouting match. 

A few seats behind Stoick, Tuffnut narrowed his eyes at the quip, but for different reasons than the chiefs. He believed―rather, hypothesized―that Hiccup’s disappearance had something to do with the change in raids. Hiccup had suddenly vanished, and the next raid was weeks late. Tuffnut was smart enough to draw a line between the two. But why had the dragons returned, and why hadn’t Hiccup? Where was Toothless? Tuffnut frowned and shook his head―it wasn’t a good idea to dwell on questions he couldn’t answer.

Instead, he tuned his ears back in to the arguing in front of him, trying to understand the garbled mess of voices. He turned slightly to the side, towards Astrid’s seat, then thought better of his decision to ask her anything.

To the seniors of their generation, Astrid was a shining example of what a Viking should be―strong, vicious, and willing to hone her skills through hard work and battles. To their juniors, she was a rising star to look up to, a hope to strive towards. To her peers, she was terrifying. She barely spoke to them, barely took any time to care for herself, and would tear herself to pieces when fighting the dragons. She had a cold, emotionless veil around her at all times, like some demon had come to fight in her place against the dragons. 

She wasn’t the only one―their class of six had changed over the last 10 months. Astrid and Tuffnut had climbed higher in their ranks, through their fighting prowess and cunning mind, respectively, but the others hadn’t fared quite as well. Fishlegs worked to update the dragon manuel, but it wasn’t a well-respected job. He had never been much of a fighter; unfortunately, his mind was a wasted resource on Berk. Ruffnut was doing poorly―after sustaining serious injuries in battle, she hadn’t had much to do with fighting since months ago. She slept fitfully, and healed slowly. Not to mention, the Thorston clan had been struggling to stay afloat for months, and only recently found its feet again. Berk’s clans collectively shuddered underneath the dragon raids, nowadays.

Nothing had been the same after that fateful night―Hiccup had disappeared, and the island had found Snotlout face-down in his own blood. It was…

Tuffnut shuddered in remembrance, then caught himself. He didn’t have the luxury of showing weakness, not to the Vikings around him, and not to himself. He had promised himself that he would do his utmost to achieve what Hiccup could have achieved. It was only after going through Hiccup’s notebooks and blueprints, his botany and martial art books, that he learned how far Hiccup outstripped anyone else on Berk. He was a poor excuse for Hiccup, but he was easily a far more skilled Viking than most.

He turned his attention forward.

Dagur finally caught ahold of the conversation with a loud smack as he slammed his hand against the table. When he lifted his hand, the wood underneath was splintered, and while he didn’t have the size or the raw strength to smash the table to kindling like the other chiefs, he was fearsome in a different caliber. He raised his voice as the other chiefs quieted down.

“We can’t be wasting our time bickering like chickens―you all know it. If you buffoons wanna jabber on, then do it outside!” Dagur gestured with a wide swing of his arm towards the doors. “But if we want to figure out a way to stop the dragon attacks, then shut the Hel up and work together.” He growled with an uncharacteristic coldness, and his eyes gleamed with a cruel light. 

Suddenly, the doors burst open. Bjorn the Valiant and just a few of his men stood in the doorway. Wind rushed in, exciting the bonfire inside and blowing ash into the air. The group of them rushed inside, getting away from the continually worsening weather, and slammed the doors shut. 

“Bjorn!” Ivar boomed a bit louder than necessary, “It’s good of you to join us. Any particular reason you were later than the rest of us?” Stoick and Bertha shook their heads at each other, quite used to Ivar’s underhanded methods to gloat over other chiefs. 

“You might find it quite interesting, actually, Ivar. Bring him over.” The leader of the Visithugs snapped back at Ivar, then turned to gesture to one of his men who, after looking a bit closer, was carrying a much smaller man in his arms. “Bring me a seat, one of you.”

For a short while, conversation broke out around the room. Five or so minutes later, the Visithugs were seated, Bjorn at the front with two skinny men―one of whom, many noticed, had two peg legs and a brutally scarred face. The other simply stared downwards with sunken eyes.

“These two were found by my scouts while surveying areas north of us. We’ve been looking for places to spread out to, after the greater number of dragon attacks. Each of their villages were razed, and they were the only survivors. Out of maybe twelve small villages, we only found two with survivors.” Bjorn gestured to his side. An uncomfortable silence draped over the room.

Ivar sneered, still miffed that the Visithug chief had brushed him off, “And why should we care? They should thank Odin that they survived and leave us to our meeting. Honestly, Bjorn, I would’ve thought you would know when to make a worthwhile point.”

Bjorn grimaced and stared the opposing chief in the eye. “I brought them here for a reason, Ivar. Their homes weren’t brought down by the dragon horde. Worse. Much worse, I believe.” He gestured to the chiefs around him to stay silent, then leaned over to the first man, the one with the peg legs. 

Straightening up and seeming to grow in size a bit, the skinny man began to speak: “We―my town―have been a nomadic people since long ago, and we had set camp northward towards the icy wastelands. We had planned to stay until the dragon hordes began to settle down. After five or so months, however, we came in contact with something worse―a Night Fury.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but the man continued his story. “Our boats were kindling by the time I got our men together, but that could’ve been remedied with time. All we needed to do was survive the attack.” He shuddered. “But then  _ he _ came.”

“Who?”

“A demon. Something beyond humans. It walked on two legs―not taller than myself, and had a ragged, unkempt look to itself, but mark my words, that thing wasn’t human. It jumped down from the Night Fury’s back and cut through my best men like a dragon through sheep. It slaughtered them all―the men, the women, and the children too, then crippled me.” He gestured towards his feet. “I don’t know why it left me alive at all. It just leaped back onto the dragon and flew off.”

The man slumped down a bit after finishing his story, and seemed to once again shrink. Bjorn clapped the man surprisingly gently on the shoulder, then looked towards his second guest. After an uncomfortable pause, the chief shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but a weak voice came from the second man.

“The same happened to me…” He breathed heavily, still hanging his head but trembling with rage as well. “That bastard...killed my tribe, killed my son in front of my eyes...then left me to rot in a desolated village. I’ll kill him...I’ll kill him!” His voice raised in intensity, but he was clearly too weak to do much other than rage.

Bjorn cut him off. “As I said previously, we found twelve small towns that were destroyed in similar fashion. Most were northward, but I find it hard to believe it will stay that way. Both of these men have survived due to their tenacity, and I only found them both in the past few weeks. We need to prepare immediately.” He stared pointedly at the Meathead chief. “Anyone disagree?”

Ivar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Stoick spoke, however. 

“I agree that we should prepare for the worst―but how can we prepare for an attack from something unholy like this? At least the dragon raids are predictable to some extent, but this...demon that you are telling us to prepare for...well, how would you imagine preparing? A Night Fury alone is a demigod-beast. Paired with a demon, I doubt it would be an easy fight for any of us.” Everyone around agreed, although few were brave enough to admit it; it went against the Viking way to admit defeat.

“Stoick’s right,” chimed Bertha. “My ladies and I live in clustered bunches in our bog, and that sounds like a perfect target for some demon with a penchant for attacking villages. I don’t mean to insult you, Bjorn, but knowing there is a nearly undefeatable menace flying about and destroying towns doesn’t help if we can’t protect ourselves from it.”

“I disagree, Bertha. I think this sounds like a challenge.” Dagur’s eyes had a dangerous gleam, and he grinned in a threatening way towards no one in particular.

Conversation began to break out among the room, less frantic than previously, but still worried and uncertain. Not long before the chatter had broken out, Bjorn raised his hand to quiet the room once again.

“There is an obvious correlation that none of you are seeing. The dragons mysteriously begin to attack with a new vigor, and equally mysteriously a demon riding a dragon is seen? The demon must have escaped from the Hel-hole that the dragons reside, and controls them to do its bidding. I believe that we must sail to Hel itself and defeat the demon at its home.”

“Those ships never come back!” grumbled multiple Vikings, from multiple different tribes. Even those who didn’t grumble had the same emotion clear in their eyes. No one wanted to be on the suicide trips towards Hel.

“We need to work together. Not each island against the demon, but all the islands together. We cannot be split in this fight, not when our families and homes are on the line. We need communication and a full-fledged assault. Put down your Viking pride and fight for our futures.” Bjorn had a stern look on his face and steel in his words. Realizing he was standing, he sat back down and stared around the room. The room, consequently, erupted in yells, arguments, and agreements.

* * *

Three hours later, Tuffnut was boarding the boat with the rest of the Berkians. With any luck, they’d arrive before the next raid. Without any, they’d be caught in the middle. Tuffnut was barely paying attention to anything around him; his mind was filled to the brim with questions.

Was that demon actually Hiccup? It had a Night Fury, and hadn’t shown up until some time near the beginning of the raids, but that didn't mean it was Hiccup. Why would Hiccup do something like this?

Tuffnut paused. Was it possible that the controller had the ability to control the Night Fury and Hiccup at the same time? Perhaps even the dragons? Too many questions buzzed in Tuffnut’s head, and he got to work helping prepare to sail. Stoick had stayed behind a bit longer to speak privately with the chiefs, but they’d be out soon. They rarely had much to talk about that couldn’t be said in front of their men and women―although this meeting may have been an exception. 

Regardless, Stoick eventually walked down to the rocky shore with the other chiefs, speaking more lightheartedly now that the meeting was over. They reached the Bog-Burglar’s ship, then split, each going to their own vessel. Stoick leaped onto his longboat, and without further ado, they set sail.

It wasn’t Tuffnut’s shift at the oars yet, so he approached the broad man. “Chief?” He prodded, hoping that Stoick’s mood was good, and that he would be willing to talk. 

“Yes Tuffnut?” Stoick turned towards him with a grin. 

This was good news―the chief was in high spirits, even after the disconcerting meeting. “I was wondering what the plan is? How are we planning to fight off the demon and the dragons? If, in fact, there is a plan at all?” Other Vikings could’ve been slapped for asking the same questions, but not Tuffnut. His strategic mind was worth twenty strong men, and Stoick knew that well.

“We are coming into a new age, I believe. Soon, we’ll have a grand alliance all over the archipelago. With that, we’ll sail a great fleet into Helheim’s Gate and finish what the dragons started.” He paused, then noted, “best to start preparing now, if you ask me. Berk is going to become a great bit fuller with Vikings coming in and out. We’re the closest to the edge, so we’ll be needing the greatest amounts of reinforcements. We’ll all need your help soon.”

“How so, Chief?”

“Only our best can be brought to fight, and we’ll need your mind. You’ve got a mind to rival, well…” Stoick trailed off, but Tuffnut knew where his mind had gone.

“I understand, Chief. I’ll start preparing for the future once we get back” Tuffnut walked away, looking for something else to pass the time. His mind was still flashing from question to question, and he had no idea where to start solving them. 

Rowing the boat nearby, Astrid stared at Tuffnut with an untrusting glare. Her eyes were dark, and her stare unflinching.

  
  



	20. The King's Haven

Hiccup woke up with a throbbing head and lying half-submerged in a deceptively deep pool. In a vague memory, he felt his body submerged, then pushed out of the water by some large, unseen force. When he tried to push his memory further, he felt only more pain in his head, and promptly cut off any further attempts. 

With small movements that didn’t wrack his body with pain, Hiccup began to drag himself out of the lake and onto a fertile stretch of land opening to the great expanse of the Haven. He felt like a rag left to hang in one of Berk’s devilish storms ―beaten, stretched, and soaked.  _ I need to restart everything,  _ Hiccup thought to himself weakly.  _ With Toothless, it was on my own terms, in familiar places. I can’t just glide through this with the same expectations. These dragons have no reason to be friendly. _

With this revelation in his mind, Hiccup took a painful breath and held onto the pain. It ached in his back and his ribs. He pulled in his arms and pushed himself upwards, shifting the pain to his left shoulder as it ran through his arm like electricity. Every move he made shifted the pain, but he found himself on his feet (or rather, foot) before long. His right arm did not hurt, of course, and neither did his left leg, but the rest of his body burned with an ugly, bruised pain.

He was wracked with pain, but he kept standing and eventually began to move. He moved not to hide, as he had been, but instead to observe and learn about the dragons. The open expanse of the Haven beckoned to him, and he followed willingly.

He walked into a rocky expanse full of stiff pillars and smooth tunnels, full of colorless blue and grey stones. Although the lush vegetation of the previous area had certainly receded, Hiccup’s watchful eye caught many plants just hiding underneath the stony surface or creeping along the walls and pillars. This area was just as alive as the previous, but far more discreet. Hiccup walked through it quietly, finally finding a place to rest along a wall beneath an arch covered in scorch marks. Clearly not a natural occurrence, and likely the result of a battle between two dragons. 

It seemed to be midday, although Hiccup could not tell exactly when in the day it was through the icy patches that jutted out, making sections of the roof airtight. Water was no hard thing to come by here, but he was starting to feel the uncomfortable emptiness in his stomach.  _ Do animals live in the Haven? _ Hiccup wondered absentmindedly as he looked out at the expanse of stone and shrubbery.

He watched as dragons glided by far above, and quietly thought of how he could find something to eat. Bringing down a dragon would be tough enough without weapons, not to mention it was the exact opposite of his current goals. He had seen some small birds, but none had flown anywhere near him. He didn’t think he’d last long in this section of the Haven, and breathed in, preparing for another arduous trek. 

Hiccup stood, well rested but still aching, and began walking across the rocky plain. His movements were slow and his clothes stood out against the muted colors around him, but he hoped he wouldn’t look like much of a meal to any dragons flying above. 

This, of course, didn’t factor in the chance of a dragon who didn’t see him.

The ground crumbled underneath Hiccup’s feet as he tripped forward, and a muscular dragon with dull spines all over it crawled out of the ground. It was a similar shade of blue-grey to the stones around, but with a strangely metallic sheen on its scales. Long horns on a flat head gave the dragon an angry look, but the thing most frightening to Hiccup was the heavy-looking club at the end of its tail. The tip looked similar to a Gronkle’s club end, but was connected with a much thinner and whiplike tail. 

Hiccup stumbled to his feet and dodged behind a pillar of stone, but fell forward again as the pillar shattered behind him. He began running away as fast as he could, and found quickly that the creature was slow and (although this was just a guess on Hiccup’s part) couldn’t breathe fire. 

Even with these limitations, Hiccup kept on his toes. Between the impressive reach that the tail could swing and rubble being flung at him, he barely had the time to feel the pain in his body as he dodged. A chunk of rock twice the size of Hiccup clipped his left side, scraping at his skin; he stumbled away from it. Every step the dragon took was worth five of Hiccup’s, but he kept running, staying the barest minimum of distance away from it.

Between dodging and running, Hiccup didn’t even notice the changes in scenery―from cold and dull to blossoming vegetation all around. After a short chase into this new area, the dragon (wingless, Hiccup noted now that he wasn’t running for his life) slunk away, seemingly afraid of the unfamiliar terrain. As the beast fled, Hiccup allowed his vigilance to drop, breathing heavily in exhaustion and pain. 

Around him was a myriad of greens made up of vines, leaves and mosses. There were less crude marks in the ground and walls, instead the exposed stone and earth was smooth and unmarred. Any other day, Hiccup would’ve recognized patterns like these, but as he was now he did not. Instead, other things had caught hold of his attention.

“Berries!” he rasped, still catching his breath. He limped over and took a closer look at them. They were none he had seen personally before, but they were green and the size of his finger, clumped together in bunches. They didn’t look appetizing, but now wasn’t the time to be picky. He plucked one and bit into it, then spat it out.

He looked down at it, and found that it had a thick skin with a bitter taste, but a lighter shade of green inside. He picked some of it out, and found it far more palatable. He plucked a few more of the small fruits and pocketed them. After a drink from a small stream nearby, Hiccup was almost feeling well―aside from the extensive bodily harm he had collected. 

He walked slowly and aimlessly, watching his step to make sure he wasn’t stepping on any more pitfalls. The area was lush and full, however, and he didn’t come across any dangers. He hadn’t even seen any dragons since he’d escaped from the wingless dragon. Hiccup felt safe, for the first time since his mother had dropped him in the middle of nowhere.

A hiss took him out of his illusion.

The noise seemed to come from nowhere, but in such vibrant greenery, there were hundreds of hiding places. He froze, then crouched down slowly. A tactic he had learned while watching dragons was the use of their size―the bigger ones seemed more dominant, and the little ones more harmless. Hopefully whatever dragons were around him would see it the same way.

As he crouched and tried to stay motionless, some patches of color around him shimmered like the surface of water. He blinked the confusion away and saw multiple of the most feared dragons known to Vikings: Changewings. They could camouflage themselves and spit a devastating acid; the only reason they didn’t rule half the world was that they were physically weak compared to most other dragons. Territorial, but unable to take new land for themselves. Vikings who found themselves in Changewing territory rarely escaped.

And four of these dragons were in front of Hiccup, bare feet away. He couldn’t see behind him, but he heard two more hisses coming from the back.

He averted his eyes, kept low to the ground, and breathed slowly. He wracked his mind for anything: something he had learned about Toothless, or fighting, or anything that could help him. 

There was nothing. 

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something new. Many dragons were just as intelligent as humans, and he saw the telltale glint in their eyes. Could he communicate with them? 

A memory came to the forefront of his mind―how his mother had interacted with the dragons. Calmly, moving slowly but surely, and somehow infinitely optimistic. She had a well of experience that spanned nearly his entire life, but could he imitate her? He slowly breathed out, then straightened up a slight amount as he took a breath in.

The closest Changewing was a deep emerald hue and was crouching barely a foot from Hiccup’s left side. Hiccup slowly raised his hands together, then drew a sharp, protruding piece of his mechanical hand across his palm. He winced as it cut into his skin, but his mouth twitched into a smile as a glow began to seep out.

He hadn’t seen it since escaping the caverns underneath Fenrir’s den, and he’d almost forgotten about it. Since he couldn’t perfectly emulate his mother, he’d have to add something else―a flair of the unknown. Ever since the chunk of crystal had seemingly dissolved in his heart, Hiccup’s blood glowed a bright orange.

Useless as it may have been, the dragons didn’t know what they were seeing. Hiccup slowly turned his head towards the emerald Changewing and reached out his hand. He stopped inches away from the dragon’s snout, staring gently but unwaveringly into its eyes. The dragons around him were unmoving, even the air seemed to hush. 

The dragon slowly let out a soft hiss, and the other Changewings around Hiccup began to fade back into greenery. The emerald Changewing in front of Hiccup backed away slowly, then snorted a small puff of acrid smoke in his direction. Its eyes didn’t leave Hiccup’s until it had fully disappeared. Once it had, Hiccup was all alone once again.

He breathed slowly, unsure whether or not they had left but sure he wasn’t out of the hot water yet. He straightened up, calmly walked past where the gap between the two dragons in front of him had been, and did not stop until he felt like he had gone much further than necessary. He slowed only when he began to see the end of the vegetated area. He found himself an out-of-the-way nook in the shrubbery, sat down, and allowed his heart to calm itself. “I can’t believe I did that. That was the stupidest…” Hiccup’s voice trailed off, but his criticism continued silently.

The Haven’s light was fading. Hiccup picked at one of the last fruits left in his pockets and tried to find a comfortable position. It wasn’t the safest or the most comfortable place, but Hiccup couldn’t drag himself through another day without sleep. He closed his eyes, and nearly immediately drifted into a deep sleep. 

* * *

It was Hiccup’s third, maybe fourth day stranded in the Haven, but it already felt like an eternity’s worth of time since he had begun this trial. After a dead sleep through the night and half of the day, he had finished off the last of his food and begun another aimless wandering through unknown land. 

Still stranded at the bottom of the chasm that made up most of the Haven, Hiccup was hurrying through a foul-smelling basin filled with fungi and mud. Although hungry, the smells around him pushed him to move on―and he wouldn’t trust any food he found here regardless.

This terrain was difficult for Hiccup as he kept causing clouds of oily spores to cloud around him. The air was thick and the ground was slippery. Hiccup kept one hand over his mouth and nose, leaving only his metal arm to slash at whatever obscured his path. He had not seen many dragons since entering this area, to no great surprise. One surprising occurrence was a Boneknapper―thought by some to be a myth, thought by others to be extinct. It had been crawling around what seemed to be a former nest of some dragon. The dragon and Hiccup had locked eyes from across a shaded plain of mushrooms, then mutually agreed to leave the other alone. Hiccup left rather quickly, worried the dragon might change its mind. 

The uncomfortable trek through the wastes took most of the day, and by the time the sun’s light was barely shining through gaps in the roof, Hiccup was starving once again. At the edge of the basin (hesitating to explore somewhere new at night) Hiccup set himself up a small place to rest underneath a mushroom the size of a boulder. 

He leaned against the giant fungus and tried to get comfortable, but the smell of sulfur and rot clung to his clothing, not to mention wafted over him with every errant breeze. He covered his nose with the collar of his shirt and tried to breathe out of his mouth. Around him, the Haven began to glow with the ambient light of the moon; it shone dimly through the icy patchwork of ceiling and illuminated the thick air with a bluish tint.

Hiccup saw this and smiled weakly, then turned and stared more intently. The moon wasn’t the only thing illuminating the area―there was a glow coming from the fungi, not unlike the fungus in Fenrir’s cavern. They were a neon blue, and the glowing miasma of spores gave the entire area a magical aura. Even the muddy water flowing deeper into the fungal area had a slight radiance to it. Hiccup smiled slightly, amazed that such a disgusting area could have such a beautiful air to it in a different situation.

The smile was short lived. A shrill screech pierced Hiccup’s ears as three dragons flew down and began to tear at the glowing algae floating on the mudflow. They were shaped similarly to a Skrill, but their abnormal glow made it abundantly clear that they were not. Hiccup had only heard stories of them, but he knew what they must be: Flightmares.

They were said to freeze their enemies in fear, but Hiccup felt surprisingly calm. Moving as little as possible, he turned to watch the dragons feed. They were aggressive towards each other, but not violent. They communicated through shrieks and growls, backing off and rushing forward. It was a strange dynamic, but not one that seemed unbalanced or hateful. It was just another piece of dragon culture that he didn’t understand.

A Flightmare lifted its head and sniffed. The other two did the same shortly after. The three of them collectively began to crawl towards Hiccup’s hiding spot.

Hiccup no longer felt so calm.

He began inching backwards, hoping the mushroom would give him cover. It did, but as he moved away he found himself caught in a puff of spores. He looked down and saw a torn bulb underneath his foot―the same ones that he had been avoiding all the previous day. With a glance forward proving the Flightmares were well aware of him, Hiccup turned and bolted.

The first thing he learned was that Flightmares didn’t breathe fire. He felt some sort of breath on his back, but rather than burning, it only tingled. It was uncomfortable but not painful, and he wasn’t complaining―the faster he got away from the dragons, the better. He caught two slashes down his back, but kept moving. The banshee shrieks began to get farther away, and Hiccup kept running.

Running away from the fungal area, Hiccup began to see different terrain rising around him. It had higher cliffs than any of his previous areas, and had a thick fog billowing out of vents in the ground. It hung in the air and obscured his vision, but was a welcome change from the thick air filled with spores. Finally, the shrieks faded entirely, replaced by a low hum from no particular place.

This new area was, in contrast with the neon coloring of the fungal basin, very dark. The fog seemed to collect the moonlight and held it hostage. Small, fractured gems shone with a dim light, but they were embedded in the floor and walls and barely illuminated anything. Regardless, the small lights glinted off Hiccup’s metal arm and leg. Hiccup squinted, then scowled and cut his palm again, reopening the partially healed cut he had made the previous day. He lifted it up and let the light shine, giving him a better view of the world around him.

The light shone, but it was muted, eaten up by the darkness around him. The only thing it illuminated well was a new threat barreling towards him. 

A small, shadowy creature flung itself at Hiccup, grabbing a piece of his metal arm and wrenching it off. He swore and grabbed at it as it flew away, but it disappeared into the fog. Another two shot towards Hiccup, and while he managed to dodge them, he could not see them clearly, much less get a hold on them. The fog around him was becoming darker and thicker, and more dragon cries began to be let out around him.

Hiccup ran. Out of breath and injured, he had no chance but to run and hope that he could find a safe place. The orange blood that was lighting his path seemed to be attracting more and more small dragons, and they swarmed around him. They seemed to target his metal appendages and his glowing hand, and he batted at them. 

While he was running, Hiccup began catching glimpses of the dragons in the smoke―grey and silver, metallic scales forming armor on them. They were small, not much larger than a Terrible Terror, but seemed to be the source of the thick black smoke that was obscuring his vision. They were a dangerous collective, and more than half of Hiccup’s mechanical arm had been taken by the time he dove into a smooth tunnel he happened across.

Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. The temperature dropped and the black smoke that had surrounded him vanished, replaced by a light mist. The light on his hand seemed to stifle itself, and the dragons immediately stopped their assault. It was a similar feeling to Fenrir’s cave.

Hiccup sat at the edge of the tunnel, debating whether or not to leave―he knew better than most that divine creatures could be tempermental. Still, he hesitated. The smoke-breathers were still waiting just outside the tunnel. They were hidden by the fading smoke and the rising fog, but he heard their quiet cries, along with the clanking of metal from time to time. His arm was in pieces, and it would no doubt be a good amount of time before he got them all back together.

_ Come in, Hiccup.  _ A voice wafted through the mist and into Hiccup’s mind. It was a strange sensation, but not one alien to him. He stood and began walking slowly into the mist―if a god wanted to talk to him, there would be no use resisting.

As he walked further inside the tunnel, it became wider and more filled with mist. The air became thicker, and he felt almost suffocated. Regardless, he pushed forward, stopping only once the air was so thick it felt solid. 

“I can’t walk any further, sir.” Hiccup addressed no one in particular. There was no light, no indication that something could hear him, but there was some presence.

_ “Sir, hmm?”  _ Said the voice, somehow more concrete yet still transmitted directly into Hiccup’s mind.  _ “It’s Ma’am, actually, but I can’t fault you for not knowing. That being said, I need you to leave. You smell far too human for me to handle.” _

“Ah, yes Ma’am. Is there something I can do about the smoke-breathing dragons?”

_ “My children were bothering you, weren’t they? I’ve already spoken to them. They’ll return the pieces to that toy of yours as well. You’ll find them when you leave.”  _ The voice chuckled softly, and Hiccup felt a force pushing at him.  _ “Good luck on your journey, Hiccup. I’ll help you out a bit, but watch yourself.” _

“Thank you.” Hiccup spoke with a grateful relief, then turned to leave. After a few steps, he turned and bowed respectfully into the mist, then turned back and continued. 

After a few minutes of walking, Hiccup exited the foggy cave. The air was dry and comfortable, but he did not recognize where he was, even though he could’ve sworn he walked back out the same tunnel he had entered. In front of him, pieces of his metal arm were piled in a messy clump. He picked them up and put them in his pockets; while he had the pieces, it would take time to rebuild the arm.

Looking around, Hiccup saw no immediate threat. Trusting that the deity he had met was telling the truth, he sat down with his back against the wall. Without bothering to set up a camp of some sort, he closed his eyes and eased into sleep.

* * *

Hiccup awoke to a group of dragons standing over him. A Monstrous Nightmare, two Deadly Nadders, and a few others that he didn’t recognize. He sat deathly still, and looked back at them with half-opened eyes, hoping they weren’t planning on attacking him.

Noticing his wakefulness, they backed off a bit. Still curious, the group stared at him, watching and waiting. Slowly, as Hiccup opened his eyes more and relaxed little by little, he realized something.

“You’re all just children, aren’t you?” He whispered under his breath. They were all dully colored, and even more importantly not battle-worn. They were smaller than most dragons he had interacted with of their species, and had a curiosity that he had seen before in the children of Berk. 

Moving slowly, Hiccup stood and stared back at the dragons as calmly as possible. He slowly tried to reach out to the closest Nadder, but it flitted away. The rest of the dragons jumped back as well, but not far. They watched him with curious eyes and waited. 

For the first time, Hiccup realized where he was. Around him was a gently sloped expanse of stone surrounded by low, segmented cliffs, and he was on one of the lowest segments. Young dragons flew all around, resting and eating and playing with each other. While he didn’t see any eggs, he felt it was a safe assumption that this was some sort of dragon nursery. 

And so, Hiccup passed the time calmly and without danger. He tried to befriend some of the child dragons (with moderate success) and started to rebuild his arm, although it was bent out of shape in some places and would take more than some simple reassembly to fix. He found a clean bed of water with fish swimming inside it, and for the first time in days he ate enough to feel full. By the end of the day, he was comfortable―it felt like the first place in the Haven that he could fully relax.

Three more days passed, each as calm as the first. Hiccup rebuilt his arm, although the fine mechanisms were still jammed. Now, instead of a moveable multi-hook attachment of an arm, Hiccup had an inelegant hook full of broken machinery. Many of the pieces were still bent out of shape, just forced together.

A more important improvement, however, was Hiccup’s relationship with the dragons around him. Through a series of happy accidents, he had begun to understand dragons a bit more. They were drawn to the mysterious, and if he could draw them in, he could befriend them (although he had yet to attempt this with older dragons). Food was one way to befriend them, although he found some that seemed uninterested. He theorized that different foods may attract different dragons, although he only had fish to offer in the few days he stayed. Another way to befriend them was to scratch and pet them, but this was a far more difficult path. This required him to get close to the dragon, and rubbing them the wrong way could end disastrously (he had learned from experience). 

Regardless, by the third day he had a small posse of Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, Terrible Terrors, and three other dragons he couldn’t categorize. He could’ve sworn he had seen them before in the Dragon Manual, but it didn’t matter too much.

Unfortunately, they were too skittish and too small for him to ride. Some of them accepted his touch, but none were willing to let him sit on them. So, on the fifth day, Hiccup left the dragon nursery―well fed and well rested, but still just as aimlessly. 

This stretch of the journey was easy, compared to his first few days. He walked along a high path of the segmented cliff-face and took his time avoiding dragons. Now that he understood them better, it was far simpler for him. 

By the end of the day, Hiccup had made significant progress. By what he assumed was midday, he had passed through a dark area of the Haven without holes in the roof to let in light. Through the dim light, he had seen a chaotic ground full of holes and scorch marks. He recognized the holes as Whispering Death tunnels, and was relieved that he had dodged that particular stretch of the journey.

Once he had found his way back into the light, however, he began to see familiar sights. First it was a plateau covered in trees, then a certain shade of grey in the stone around him. It was an area he had flown over with his mother―and while he didn’t remember their exact route, he knew he was close. It was probably another two days until he got back, Hiccup estimated.

But as he walked on, he found something both interesting and more than a bit disturbing.

As he moved on along the higher platforms, he watched his path ahead for dragon nests―they were generally easy to notice, if you were paying attention. Made of stones and wood (or whatever else was easy to transport) they were far larger than any other animal nests, meaning they stuck out like a sore thumb in a perfectly naturalistic landscape. Even so, they could be missed by someone who was unaware.

Even someone unaware would see some wooden planks mixed in with the stones and branches, however. 

They were clearly man-made, and Hiccup snuck closer to get a better view. They were a darker wood and splintering on the ends. Further investigation provided nothing else, however, so he moved on. It was concerning, but not unusual. Why wouldn’t dragons take parts of shipwrecked boats for their own uses?

Turning a tight corner of stone, Hiccup saw a sight that shook him down to the bone. Down on the floor of the chasm, in a peaceful dead end, laid at least twenty dilapidated viking ships, each covered in burn marks and scratches. Most were beginning to rot, but a few seemed as though they were only a few months old. A few dragons crawled about them, but there was no sign of their crews anywhere nearby. Hiccup began a careful climb down the cliffs to take a closer look.

Once he got close, he first calmed the dragons. The few common dragons crawling through the ships perked up as he got close, but with his newly-learned understanding he put them at ease. Before long, he was free to search the ships without worry.

He never got the chance. Climbing onto the first ship, Hiccup was interrupted by a familiar voice. “So you’ve found the shipyard. I was going to bring you here after you returned, but this might be better for you, finding it on your own.” Hiccup turned and looked up; his mother and Cloudjumper stood above him. Valka had an unreadable expression, and as she looked down at Hiccup, the shadow hid her face.

“What is this place, Valka?”

  
  



	21. Training

Valka lifted herself on the heels of her palms and hopped down the rocky cliff beneath her, barely sparing her footing a second glance. Cloudjumper followed, and the two of them were standing in front of Hiccup in seconds. The wood beneath them buckled with a noise Hiccup had heard before in the broken-down houses of Berk, the sound of rotting wood and aging supports giving out. Valka moved slightly forward, as if expecting a warm welcome, but was stopped cold in her tracks by a stern look from Hiccup.

“What is this, Valka?”

The outer visage of a mother faded and was replaced by the woman who had been on her own for sixteen years. The woman frowned, all angles and sternness where it hadn’t been a moment ago. She looked Hiccup in the eye with a deadly seriousness as she answered.

“The Haven protects its own. You know as well as I do that Vikings would never let us have a moment of peace if they knew of our existence, no matter how passive we were.” Hiccup saw something behind her eyes that reminded him of Stoick, and in that moment, it was frightening how much the similarity struck him.

“And these?” Hiccup gestured behind him, at the twenty-something ships rotting behind him. After the past week stranded in the Haven, he’d thought nothing could surprise him ―but he was shocked. 

Valka shook her head. “Don’t act as if you don’t understand, Hiccup. To keep ourselves safe and undetected, we keep the seas around us blank on any maps. No ships can be allowed to come near and then leave. If there was a reasonable alternative, I’d take it. But would the dragons?” She shifted on her feet, then began walking along the edge of the boat, hopping to the next and gesturing for Hiccup to follow her. As he followed, she resumed, “I get what I need from the remains : clothes, tools, any occasional luxuries that happen to be on a ship. If you choose to stay in the Haven and grow stronger, as was Fenrir’s requirement, you will have full leave to these ships. But this is the ugly truth of the Haven.” 

She stepped onto one of the few boats that seemed to be in good condition and walked along it. Once she got to the bow of the ship, she knelt down and hit a plank with the bottom of her fist. Hiccup knelt down with her, helping her open the dragon-proof hatch that most ships had; they were supposed to be hidden, but any Viking who had sailed before knew how to open them, and knew how to find them. The two climbed down into the storage bed.

From thin strands of light peeking through the boards, Hiccup saw a well-stocked hold full of Viking essentials: weapons and shields, armor and materials like scales or metal. A long-distance ship, possibly to attempt to find the dragon’s nest or to attack a neighboring community. Hiccup didn’t recognize the crest that was on the shields, so it couldn’t be anything close to Berk. Even so, his feelings toward the situation were complicated.

Hiccup turned to his mother, then turned away; Valka, in return, watched her son with a patient eye. Hardening his emotions yet keeping his eyes on the ground, he questioned, “do you kill the Vikings yourself, or do the dragons do so by themselves?” 

A tense silence grew after he stopped speaking. He kept his head down, looking everywhere but towards his mother, afraid of what he might hear.

“...I have.” Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat, but his mother continued. “Do not think of me as a monster. I have killed for the same reasons a Viking kills an attacker on his land. To protect the ones I love, and to defend what is mine. How is it any different?”

Without an answer, Hiccup knelt quietly, turning a knife in his hands to dispel the anxious energy that seemed to be bubbling up inside him. He couldn’t disagree with what Valka had said, and that made it worse for him. Still kneeling with his back turned to his mother, he spoke tentatively: “I...don’t know how I feel about it. It makes sense…” he trailed off, then shook his head to cut off any errant thoughts. “But I’ll need time to sort my own thoughts out. If I leave now, I’ll never get to see Toothless again. For now, that’s the only reason I’m staying.”

Behind him, Valka nodded with a sombre expression. Hiccup hadn’t turned to see it, but nothing would’ve changed if he had. After some time, Valka left, leaving her son to himself in the wreckage.

Hiccup was no devout worshipper of the gods. He knew the myths and the legends, the stories of their world and the stories of the gods and goddesses. Even so, he rarely went further than burning something as an offering. On top of that, his interactions with gods previously had been altogether very poor: Nidhogg and Fenrir were directly adverse to him, while the Bewilderbeast was uncaring. The creature in the mist he had stumbled upon had seemed to be a god, but that was the only positive experience out of four.

Regardless, Hiccup prayed a short prayer to whatever gods might be listening. Blasphemous, perhaps, but he felt like it was needed, and it helped put his mind to rest.

As he finished, he wondered how he had changed since Berk. Back then, he would’ve barely batted an eye at killing other Vikings, even those of his own island. Now, he was upset over groups he had never met before, likely long dead before he had arrived. It was strange to him, noticing this abrupt change in behavior ―was it due to Nidhogg’s influence, or something else? Waving away the irrelevant thoughts, he got to work searching through the ship’s supplies. Even with his regret towards the Vikings who once owned this, his drive to see Toothless again was far more pressing.

* * *

Toothless was irritated, licking his wounds and thinking dark thoughts about his mentor. Fenrir was impossibly vague about the process that gods took to integrate with their hosts, and had training that bordered on insanity. 

The only constant was a fight. Every day, Toothless and Fenrir tore the skies and seas apart with a spar between the two; it was supposed to teach Toothless how to use his new, innate abilities. Aside from the newfound strength and speed that his body seemed to swell from somewhere inside of him, he felt no changes. Fenrir insisted on the fights, however, so every day they clashed. Every day as well, Toothless found himself thrown to the ground.

Fenrir’s training only got worse from there.

Repetitive and unpredictable, Toothless found himself doing tasks pointless and unspecified. Fly as high as he could, then dive to the bottom of the ocean around them; collect and arrange crystals from the array of caves they lived in; without sight, scent or sound, hit a moving target with his fire. Often, Fenrir would give the same challenge multiple days in a row, and Toothless was almost convinced that it was solely to anger him. He was no doubt succeeding at his tasks, but without context of how they would help, they grated on his nerves.

Asking Fenrir directly was a dead end―he was always met with pointless questions to answer his own, like: “Did you communicate with your god?” or “Did you learn anything?” Answers that essentially gave no answer, and only proved to get under his skin.

Looking inward, as Fenrir seemed to want him to do, proved to be quiet and uninteresting. He no longer caught glimpses of strange sights or heard whispered gibberish, as he had in the first few weeks. Instead, it was like looking into a dark, clouded pool of ice that did not crack or melt. It was a centering technique that Fenrir had taught him, but it seemed to be moot. Toothless was at a loss, and the pool did nothing to prod his imagination. While he did not doubt there was something to be found within, he had all but given up finding it.

Even so, there were two reasons why he kept it up, despite the drudgery of it all: firstly, training was the only release from the dull, empty passing of time in the caverns. Infuriating, yes, but the unusual and varied tasks kept his mind moving. Secondly, it was the only way he would see Hiccup again―Fenrir had made that clear as day. 

Despite his species’s solitary nature, Toothless had to admit that he was attached to Hiccup. Both for his openness to going against his island’s traditions, and for the dangers they had weathered. Even though his tail had healed and he no longer needed Hiccup for maintenance, he wanted to stay with his friend. 

In a darker part of Toothless’s mind, he was reminded of the things they had done under Nidhogg’s control. They meant less to Toothless than they had to Hiccup, but even the Night Fury felt some regret for their actions. Most dragons didn’t kill for sport, and there was certainly no honor to killing defenseless humans. It was a sick, restless feeling to remember it.

Toothless stood suddenly, pacing. His lightest injuries were already healing, and the rest felt numb. His impatience was nothing new, but after remembering those months the two of them were controlled, he felt his agitation renewed. Turning towards the exit, Toothless headed out towards Fenrir’s chamber.

A few minutes of slinking through the caverns later, Toothless found himself in the dim light of Fenrir’s room. The great Skrill, awake but resting, sat on a pedestal of stone and seemed to be listening for something, as if lost in a daydream; he didn’t react until Toothless was barely three steps away.

“Lord, brother, you made me jump. Ever thought of making some noise?” Fenrir spoke in his characteristic tone, somewhere between regal and sneering. “What did you want? Are you that eager for your next training?”

“I want to fight again. I think I can do better.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, an angular smirk crept up the larger dragon’s face. “How lucky. I was just thinking I hadn’t had enough fun in our last spar.”

* * *

Hiccup had relocated. After finding so much in the ships that he could never cart it all to the small cave he had been calling home, he decided to bring home to the ships. There wasn’t much to bring: the chains bound to him, the glowing crystal from Fenrir’s trial, a strip of Yggdrasil root, and a few outfits his mother had given him. All of these had been moved to a hidden compartment in one of the ships.

He no longer had a ‘home’ as much as an area of his own. All of his time was spent in the wreckage of the boats. Most were rotted on the outside, but even the most rotted of the bunch had some salvageable items. Most were weapons, but the valuables came from the less war-ready ships. One ship in particular was filled with boxes of books in many languages and clothes brightly colored and all sorts of unusual things. It reminded him of Trader Johann’s ship, although he knew it wasn’t. He wondered how the nervous little man was doing.

Collection moved slowly but surely. Aside from eating, sleeping, and the occasional visit from his mother, Hiccup kept himself busy collecting and organizing and accumulating a great wealth of Viking essentials. Most were weapons―swords and spears with rotted handles, blunted axes and heavy maces. Their disrepair was no issue to him; Hiccup only wanted the raw materials. Aside from the weapons, Hiccup had piled large sections of armor, made of hard leather and scratched metal. More than anything else, these would be the first vital step for him.

An inventor was one thing, but Hiccup was a smith by training; how would he get the necessary tools? Hammers and multiple types of tongs, not to mention a forge and anvil. He puzzled over this for days as he stockpiled, and only with a stroke of genius (and a stroke of luck) did he find his answer.

To Hiccup’s good fortune, the ship filled with books and clothes had other objects, one of which was a large, flat piece of metal. With Valka and Cloudjumper’s assistance, Hiccup lifted it onto a short, mostly flat piece outcropping of stone and braced it underneath a handy ledge. This would serve as an anvil, but how would he heat the metal? 

The genius was brought about as Hiccup watched a Nadder and a dragon with long horns tussle, blowing fire and throwing each other in ways that wouldn’t cause too much damage to each other or their surroundings. Staring at the orange glow left behind in their trails, the stroke of brilliance struck. While away from Toothless, he had no intention of taming another dragon―but what about calming them enough to work with him? Clearly, his mother hadn’t trained every dragon in the Haven, but they flew alongside her and did as she needed. He would do the same.

It was an arduous process. He no longer feared or felt apprehension towards the creatures, but getting them to follow him to his workspace was difficult. Gesturing for them to breathe fire didn’t work, and since they couldn’t understand him he often had to pantomime the action. It worked...occasionally.

Getting a hammer and tongs would have to wait. It was a backwards process: Hiccup had to rebuild his right arm, which would allow him to make better tools, which would help him r _ e-rebuild _ his arm to full capacity. More than full capacity, if he was to make himself stronger―it was originally built for climbing, for gripping onto ledges and into crevices. Now, he would make it battle-ready.

Time passed quickly for Hiccup, although his days were long and tireless. It took a full week to finish his arm, another half for maintenance. The mechanics were basic, and it was made with the intention of refining it later. His leg as well would need to be reforged, but a peg leg could only go through so much refining. Recreating a hand was a much more delicate process.

Once he had finished his hand, he began his second project: a new dragonskin armor. His first was lost in Nidhogg’s caverns, ripped to pieces and useless to him now. Thankfully, he was in the land of plenty for dragon materials. Hiccup spent some time searching, and found a small scattering of mismatched scales.

It was time to visit his mother.

A less joyous occasion than you might expect. While Valka was as loving as the next mother, she was stern and unyielding; not to mention how they had disagreed over the Viking’s ships. Hiccup took a day off to visit her, and to his luck, caught her as she returned from a flight out of the Haven.

Seated behind his mother on Cloudjumper, an uncomfortable silence lagged as the wind whistled in their ears. Hiccup opened his mouth to talk, but Valka spoke first: “I visited Fenrir today. He was interested in your progress.” It was not what he had expected to hear, but it wasn’t unwelcome, either.

“Why? Is Toothless almost finished with his?”

In return, Valka snorted, “Hiccup, do you think it’s that quick to finish merging? Toothless will need another two seasons at least. No, Fenrir was curious to know if you had grown at all close to his requirements.”

“What did you tell him?” asked Hiccup apprehensively. His view of the Skrill-god was poor at best, but it would be better for Fenrir to have a positive view of him, or at least for him to approve of his training methods.

“I told him everything you’ve done, from survive in the wilds of the Haven to recreating your arm. I know you plan to make yourself a suit as well, so I told him-”

“Actually,” Hiccup cut in, “I needed to ask you where I could find some shed skins, or scales for-”

“That sounds like an excellent chance to make a trade. Fenrir insisted I train you in fighting. I am not much of a fighter myself, but I have confidence that you will not find me an easy opponent.” Valka leaned forward and pointed downwards at Hiccup’s new residence, which they were passing over. Cloudjumper landed, and the two Haddocks slid off. “Find yourself a weapon, Hiccup, and we’ll begin your training.”

* * *

If Toothless had been irritated before, then the past few days had been infuriating. Fenrir had been slacking off, forgetting to give him tasks every day. Most days, Toothless spent more than enough time resting, then going to confront his lazy mentor. The types of tasks he was given didn’t change, but that only added to their angering nature.

A few days ago, Fenrir had left the caves without any notice, and returned late in the day. He had met with Hiccup’s mother (Toothless made a note to ask about this later) and spoken at length about how to train their respective students. Apparently, to Fenrir, this meant lazing around all day with no regard for training his student. Toothless doubted an immortal god could lose memories so easily, but with the way Fenrir acted, he wasn’t so sure.

Fenrir lazed about nearly every day. Other than leaving for food, or when Toothless came to remind him of his mentorship, the Skrill was mostly immobile. He spent his days sleeping and slinking around his cave grouchily when he was woken. Despite all this, Toothless couldn’t beat him down in their spars. He was like a force of nature―although if he really thought about it, so were most gods.

And so, Toothless trained on his own. Honing his skills and his body was sheer repetition of movements until they became instinct. He relearned how to use his echolocation, more skill rather than instinct, and practiced using it in every condition he could think to use it―even underwater. Even with the hours he spent like this, however, the time dragged on.

Something strange was happening inside his mind, however.

Until now, the aforementioned ‘looking inwards’ had revealed nothing, like a clouded patch of icy emptiness. Now, it was like a murky lake, full of mystery and still just as secretive. Toothless stared into it, and it was like staring down Nidhogg, or Fenrir; an undeniable pressure crushed down on him whenever he tried to look into it. He didn’t know how, but he was connecting with his patron. 

He still couldn’t tell of any difference in his abilities. No magical powers manifested, just the uninteresting drone of time passing relentlessly. But he knew something was changing.

Heartened, Toothless redoubled his efforts to get Fenrir to train him. Every moment he was resting, he knew, was a moment Hiccup would be getting ahead.

* * *

Hiccup stood above the prone forms of his mother and Cloudjumper, although the dragon was already stirring. They had sparred, and Hiccup had won handily; neither his mother nor Cloudjumper were weak by any standards, but Hiccup was simply too well trained. All the time he had spent training in the cove was not wasted, had not left him since he had left Berk. He’d won even without using the shadowy, unknown state that took away his pain and sharpened his reflexes―he hadn’t thought about it in ages, and was hesitant to use it, knowing now that it connected him to Nidhogg directly.

The giant four-winged dragon stood on shaky legs, giving Hiccup a look a few steps short of anger, closer to a peeved glare. It picked up Valka in a tender claw and bent down for the boy to climb onto his back before lifting off. A short flight later, Hiccup slid off, landing soundly on a ship’s rotting carcass and nodding his thanks to Cloudjumper. 

After a short rest, Valka woke up. Honoring their agreement, she told Hiccup where he could find shed scales; they talked briefly, then she left on Cloudjumper. She seemed both proud of her son’s strength and upset at her own inability to fight him, but that meant the future was uncertain. Who else could train him?

Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter―or even better, he would be left to his own training, focusing on his smithing and inventing. For now, at least, he would be left to his own devices. After a quick meal, Hiccup went to collect the necessary scales for his armor. It was a slow process, but by the end of the day, he had two buckets worth of multicolored scales, most darkly shaded.

Question: is it possible to melt dragon scales? The short answer is no.

The long answer, to Hiccup’s dismay, was a resounding no, tested over the following two days. He got different types of dragon’s fires, different forging techniques to soften them, and different types of scales. He even got Valka to assist him in getting a Changewing’s acid, only to come out of the encounter with a disappointing pile of ash that was at one point, Hiccup’s precious scales. Finally, he conceded, and set to work sewing and embedding the scales into his suit―less effective, but undoubtedly the only method for him.

After another week or so (Hiccup’s grasp on time was weak, immersing himself wholly into his work), the dragonskin suit was complete. A skintight suit of scales was first on his body, and on top of that was a typically polished leather with highlights of iron. Atypically, however, it was also covered in darkly colored scales―less functional, but a more aesthetic look. That being said, they had their uses as well: they would not only add to its defense, but along Toothless, they would be a terrifying duo. 

Only three areas on his body were not covered by the armor, and two of them were his prosthetics. Hopefully, he would be able to meld them into his armor, make it impossible to tell where the armor ended and the prosthetic began. Gobber always joked that “Ye can’t feel pain in your hand if it’s a hook,” and Hiccup planned to take that to heart. The only other vulnerability was his face: it was masked, but there were spaces for him to breathe and see.

But aside from these exceptions, the suit was impenetrable, and undoubtedly better than his previous two suits. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be a huge step towards Fenrir’s ultimatum.

Two more steps. Hiccup planned to mold the abnormally hard chains into a weapon of some sort, and he planned to remake his arm and leg, this time into something elegant and strong. After that, if he wasn’t at the level Fenrir wanted, he’d have to stretch himself further.

Hiccup began sketching his ideas, weapons and machinery alike.

* * *

Toothless had finally gotten a glimpse of his own power, and he was lucky he still existed. Not in the way one might expect, however.

It all started when he was resting in the dark recesses of the cavern, once again trying to communicate with his deity through the murky pool in his mind. Rather than a legitimate pool, the centering technique was a state of mind that was perfectly calm. It was often unnerving and reminded him of Nidhogg’s method of brainwashing at times, but according to Fenrir, “gods rarely have the ability or the chance to appear physically. The only way is through your mind.”

That being the case, Toothless sat at the edge of the pool and stared into it. Whenever he wasn’t training or bothering Fenrir, he tried to see through it, deeper into the water.

One day, he did.

The water began to clear. Still murky, still unleashing that godlike pressure, it began to clear itself. Toothless jerked in surprise―he had been staring into it, but that didn’t mean it had ever reacted or responded. He inched closer, reaching out to touch its surface.

The pool had once been icy and clouded. Once it became liquid, however, it seemed harder than the solid surface of ice, even harder to see into. The pool itself had never acted like water, however, more like oil or blood. It was thick and solid as stone.

Toothless touched the water, and found himself breaking the surface. He pressed his claws farther in, and with some effort, he was able to submerge his whole leg. It was warm, surprisingly. The pressure was tight, but not enough to be uncomfortable. There was something at the bottom of the pool, Toothless could tell, although he wasn’t able to make it out. If he could just get closer…

As all of this went on his mind, Toothless’s real body was sitting on the ground in his personal cave―it was bare and dark, barely lit by any of the crystals normally found in the caverns. Even if it had been, he preferred the dark. He felt at peace in darkness, especially with his echolocation as instinctual as it was. Errant sounds revealed the room to him, and the picture built in his mind updated itself constantly with them. Rather than seeing color and objects, he saw the outlines of everything as it existed in the moment. As his mind crept deeper into the pool, some dust or bug found its way into his nose, and he sneezed; the noise creating a crystal clear image of the room in his mind’s eye.

Toothless froze halfway submerged in the pool. The image of the room he sat in was missing something vital, so vital that it might be laughable to think it wasn’t there. 

He couldn’t sense himself.

Rather, he seemed to forget that he existed physically, and his outline in the mental picture seemed thin and blurred, almost transparent. He certainly had not moved, but something was wrong. It frightened him enough to rethink his actions, and he backed out of the pool.

As he backed out, he realized how deeply he really had submerged himself: entirely down to his torso. It had been so natural that he had completely focused on what was at the bottom of the pool. Peering back into it, there was still something at the bottom, just out of sight like a shadow in the moon’s light. However, now it seemed far more dangerous than some simple curiosity.

As Toothless opened his eyes (his real, physical eyes), he took a deep breath. That was like nothing he had ever experienced, and it terrified him. He was nearly as frightened as when Nidhogg had controlled him, but now he understood it better. Shaking off the last of the jitters, he set off to tell Fenrir the news.

Finally, he was making headway with his god.

* * *

Shielding his eyes from the blinding light, Hiccup watched through his fingers as a multitude of dragons blasted their hottest flames at a single point. With a heavy apron of scales, he was able to get mere feet away as they all converged to superheat the chains Hiccup had found in the caverns. With a gesture from Valka the dragons stopped, and Hiccup rushed in with his tools, pounding with all his might. After a minute of this, he stepped away and let the dragons resume their barrage. 

The resistance was impressive, but slowly the chains were being hammered down, shaped and solidified once again. The four lengths of chain that he had were rationed out in his sketches: one would go as parts for his leg, another for his arm―it would be hard to find better raw materials for them; the other two would be combined for the weapon.

Although unclear on what type of weapon he wanted to make, Hiccup knew it had to be one-of-a-kind. He had a weak connection to the chains, but that was just surface level. He didn’t even know how to manipulate magic, and the fact that it had worked was frankly shocking to him. But since it had, he planned to exploit it to the best of his abilities. So far, he’d found that he could influence the chains to weakly magnetize together, that he could always sense where they were (albeit vaguely), and that they sparked when touching other metals, although whether that was due to their own properties or their relation to Fenrir was unknown to Hiccup.

The streams of flame cut off, and he moved in again, hammering at the now-misshapen metal. These would, once broken down, be mechanics and vital parts of the prosthetic arm. His sketches depicted a slim, elegant arm that would be unrecognizable as a fake, provided it was covered by a glove or something similar. To top it off, he planned on fitting some small, emergency weapons inside, like a one-shot crossbow or a slim blade. He’d be able to fit more in his leg, but unpreparedness was the downfall of the foolish. 

Hiccup snorted, knowing how contradictory the Berkian saying was―the only thing Vikings were constantly prepared for was battle, and only battle.

By the end of the day, Hiccup was soaked in sweat and aching in his bones, but satisfied with his progress. Broken down and hammered into the vague pieces he needed, he had all the needed components for his arm. Now that the pieces were smaller, he could brute-force them into many shapes: gears, coggs, and strips. All the necessary pieces in his blueprint.

The blueprints were excessive, to say the least. He had spent days and nights on them. After a while, he’d run out of spare paper, so he carved them into stone, or scratched them into wood. The end result, however, would be worth it.

Days passed, and Hiccup finished his arm. He moved onto the leg, and finished it in less time than the arm. It was more complicated than a peg leg, but not by much. It had hollow spaces for weapons, it had a foot-shaped bottom and a calf-shaped leg section. It was only complex in Viking standards, and would be considered basic machinery anywhere else. Regardless, it was completed.

While he was testing his new prosthetics out, Valka swooped down above him. He smiled, but seeing her face, his smile faded. She looked grim and slightly anxious, and hovered in the air with Cloudjumper. She leaned down, then spoke in a dark tone, “Hiccup, a ship has approached the island. I know your thoughts on this, and I won’t force you, but will you come with me to remove it? I’d like to prove to you that it’s only a necessity for our survival.”

Hiccup’s stomach dropped and the remnant of a smile faded. Moving to climb onto Cloudjumper’s back, he hoped he could find some way to intervene, to find a middle ground. He doubted it would be possible, but any attempt would be worth a try.

  
  



	22. Ambush

The frigid air whistled in Hiccup’s ears and brought tears to his eyes, but the cold barely reached him. Plenty of thought had gone into the suit, and its newly finished form was designed to protect from all elements: padding to keep out the cold, scales to keep out the fire’s heat, a slick outside to prevent rain soaking into his skin. Being thrown into a sea or struck by lightning would no doubt negate his advantages, but rare cases aside, he was a walking fortress with minimal weaknesses.

In front of him, Valka sat silently. No doubt it was a struggle for her as well, to kill Vikings every time they got too close, but her will had been tempered over the years she’d lived in the Haven. Hiccup was hesitant, but he’d decided to come along as well; the chance that he’d be able to find a middle ground between the middle parties was unlikely, but it was a chance he was willing to reach for.

They flew for a short time, far enough that the Haven was an icy blot on the horizon, but close enough to tell it was far larger than some errant chunk broken from an iceberg. As they saw the boat, Cloudjumper flew above a layer of clouds in a practiced motion. A small flock of dragons were waiting, no doubt the patrol that had alerted Valka. She reached out to the dragons, and they each clustered closer, letting her stroke their snouts in reward.

“Stay on Cloudjumper, Hiccup.” Valka spoke neutrally, climbing onto a dragon with scaly plates on its back and wings. “He’s more used to being ridden. We’ll ambush them soon, and you’ll need a safe ride.” Although it was meant to reassure Hiccup, it only made him more tense ― he gripped Cloudjumper with his legs just a bit tighter, stiffened his hands on the dragon’s neck.

Together, they peered through thin spots in the clouds and assessed the ship: it was larger than typical Viking ships, and the crew bustling about looked like no crew Hiccup had ever seen before. Rather than the typical heavily armored and heavily armed Vikings, these men were lightly clad in thin armor, sporting bows, spears, and other lesser used weapons. Something seemed off, but Hiccup couldn’t place his finger on what it was. 

“Dragon Trappers.” Valka spoke with an animalistic snarl. “They search for dragons to capture and enslave, caging and selling them to the highest bidder. A worthless group of criminals and outcasts with no honor or allegiance.” The way she glared at the ship spoke volumes more than her words, but Hiccup was smart enough to keep his tongue behind his teeth, for once.

He stared down at the ship with his heart in his stomach, anxiously tapping his fingers on Cloudjumper’s neck. Meanwhile, Valka moved from dragon to dragon, making small gestures and strange noises in her throat. It would’ve seemed like a strange ritual to anyone else, but Hiccup could tell that she was communicating with them; she had explained to him once that she could communicate with the dragons through some bare minimum expressions and noises.

After a few minutes, Valka had made it around to every dragon. She turned to Hiccup. “Are you going to attack with us?”

The calming breaths that Hiccup had been forcing suddenly caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to answer . He  _ could _ fight, no doubt, but was he ready to kill simply because a ship had floated a bit too close to their territory? Perhaps a year ago he would’ve done the same without batting an eye.

But now?

Valka’s stern look wavered, then broke down for a brief moment. She growled briefly at Cloudjumper, then looked back up to Hiccup. With a thin smile, she said “Cloudjumper will come down to the ship once we’ve cleared the deck. There will probably be more inside, but by that point, you shouldn’t have to take any action yourself. All you have to do is watch.”

“Are you...are you sure?” Hiccup forced the words out, even though he regretted them as he spoke. He should go down with her, find a way to mediate the conflict. Why did it feel so difficult to breathe, all of a sudden? “I should go with you…” he trailed off.

“No, especially not if you’re looking so stressed. I’ll let you ease into it―not to mention that sneak attacks like this are a practiced maneuver. You’d only slow us down.” The words were heavier on Hiccup’s heart than he expected, but he understood. This was Valka’s way of reassuring him, of taking the pressure off. “When Cloudjumper brings you down, I’ll teach you the ropes. For now, just watch.”

Hiccup nodded his head in assent, breath still caught in his throat. Without another word, Valka made a gesture, and she flew off with the dragons close behind her.

It was silent for a few minutes, and Hiccup stared down at the unassuming ship through the thin sections of the cloud. Pulling off his helmet, he tried to slow his erratic breathing; resuming his anxious finger-tapping on Cloudjumper’s neck, he pondered why he found himself unable to attack the ship. It wasn’t fear, necessarily, but found himself flashing back to the ruthless actions he had performed under Nidhogg’s control. Burning houses, killing Vikings in cold blood; the scenes pierced his mind like nails.

Cloudjumper shook him out of his stupor with a grunt, and Hiccup realized just how tightly he had been holding onto the dragon.

Just as he relaxed his grip, Valka and the dragons burst from the clouds, diving towards the ship with flawless coordination.

The dragons swooping down were noticed quickly, but the Trappers’ reaction was dulled by their unpreparedness. By the time most of them had gotten their weapons out, the ambush had already descended upon them. Hiccup stared down, focusing on the dragons and how they fought, rather than his mother. He’d focused on Valka at first, flying on a dragon he’d come to know as a Razorwhip, but once she jumped down to attack, Hiccup felt the stomach-wrenching unease again. It faded when he focused on the fights between the dragons and Trappers.

To Valka’s credit, it was exactly as she had told Hiccup―this was not an attack made by malice or cruelty. It was quick, precise, and ruthless; it was closer to a surgical procedure than a battle. The dragons used their claws and tails to attack vital points, and paired with the ambush, the Trappers’ numbers dwindled quickly. Barely five minutes had passed before Cloudjumper began gliding down to the ship.

By the time Hiccup and Cloudjumper landed, the ambush group had split into three groups. The first group of dragons were dragging dead Trappers to the side of the ship, piling them but not dumping them overboard. The second group of dragons were resting as Valka looked over their wounds. A few dead dragons laid prone on the deck, left alone for now.

The third group of dragons began slinking down into the lower levels of the ship. Hiccup heard the noises of battle under his feet, and walked towards his mother. “I’m sorry, Valka,” he mumbled, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me―”

Valka cut him off with a stiff gesture. “It’s not over yet. I’ll put you to work preparing the ship to take back to the Haven. We’ll need to dispose of the bodies…” She listed a few tasks for Hiccup to take care of. Before he left, she added on: “And remember, collect any weapons that the Trappers were using. They rub dragonroot extract on the edges, and that’ll knock out a dragon in seconds. I have to get rid of them myself.” She lifted an arrow in example, and pointed at the dragons Hiccup had thought were dead. He nodded in response, then turned to search the lower levels of the ship.

The fighting was wrapping up by the time Hiccup reached the lower sections of the ship. When he looked around, it seemed like only a handful of Trappers had remained belowdecks during the initial ambush. The Trappers were scattered around like dummies, however, and Hiccup barely spared them a second glance.

No, what drew his eye were the cages.

Steel cages were scattered and stacked around the wide lower room, each filled with a dragon or two. They were cramped and underfed, and most had piles of excrement near or in their cages. It was a disgusting sight for Hiccup, and he choked back a throatful of bile that threatened to crawl its way out. He knew that many of the dragons loyal to his mother had once been in similar situations; thankfully, Valka’s dragons had begun wildly tearing at the locks, freeing their trapped brethren. Turning away, Hiccup busied himself in his work.

First, he collected the Trappers’ weapons. Their weapons were laced with the dragonroot, as Valka had said, and Hiccup made extra care to pile them away to the side. Secondly, he took note of the dragons and helped them break out of their restraints. More than once did he have to shield his face from their fire and talons, and each time he regretted leaving his mask on the deck. Nevertheless, he pushed through and broke every remaining dragon out.

His third task was the most vague, but Valka had put special emphasis on it regardless: search the ship for any evidence that the Trappers had been searching for the Haven. If this ragtag group had information on the Haven, that meant others did as well. Valka hadn’t told him who these Trappers worked for, but he’d recognized something sinister in her voice when she’d talked about ‘caging and selling’. Anyone buying dragons would be particularly interested in the Haven, no doubt.

As the last of the dragons slunk up the stairs, Hiccup walked towards the captain’s bunk: generally just a marginally larger room at the back end of the ship―but if there was any information worth keeping, it would be there. He pushed the door open and walked in leisurely. 

With barely a second to react, a knife was thrust at Hiccup’s face. He flung himself to the left and slammed into a crude shelf.

He turned his head to see a tall, well-built man with slicked back hair and a striking blue tattoo on his chin. Dressed similarly to the other trappers, the man was covered in furs and leather with a small broach on his chest. In the time it took Hiccup to look him over, the Trapper had swung the knife at him again.

This time, with a wall behind him, Hiccup stepped in, catching the man’s arm in a lock and twisting it in a way that would force him to drop the knife. The Trapper did so, but in return sunk a heavy punch into Hiccup’s torso with his other hand. Hiccup felt the punch even through his suit, and let go of the man’s arm. The two of them stared fiercely at each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

A confusing mix of emotions wove their way through Hiccup’s mind―the anxiety that he’d felt watching the attack on the ship had returned threefold, but the relief that he was able to fight was a nearly equal comfort. As the Trapper’s eyes snapped back and forth, Hiccup lifted his hands in front of him and spoke. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. If you surrender, you’ll be perfectly safe.” There was a surprising lack of tremor in his voice, even though his breath was short from both exertion and fear.

In response, the Trapper snorted, “A demon child trying to act diplomatic? That’s a new one.” Eyes shifting back and forth, he reached for a handaxe that laid on the shelf.

“We don’t have to fight. Put down that axe and we can talk. Just―” Hiccup was suddenly cut off by a quick swing from the trapper, and he had to throw himself backwards to avoid it. Another wide swing, and Hiccup ducked underneath, throwing himself forward and driving an elbow into the man’s gut. Like a tree, the man fell with Hiccup pinning him to the ground.

The man struggled, but grappling was an art that Hiccup knew far too well to be easily bested. It was less muscle, more skill and resolve. Even wearing his bulky suit, he was able to hold down the Trapper and kick the short axe away. 

It was not an easy feat, however. The man twisted and spat, shifting his body with the rocking of the waves or the jerking of the wind. Despite himself, Hiccup found himself impressed with the Trapper; he was clearly more skilled than the average Viking. Deciding to attempt once more, he frowned down at the man and opened his mouth slightly, wondering how to convince him.

In the moment he let his mind wander, Hiccup lost his grip on the man’s right arm; the Trapper twisted and drove his open hand into Hiccup’s head with far more weight than he should’ve been able to muster. He stumbled to the side, ears ringing, and the man got up off the floor. The two of them stood and glared at each other again―but there was something different in both of their eyes, and they both recognized it. In the Trapper’s, there was a darkness that Hiccup could almost physically see. In Hiccup’s, there was the permeating fear that had seemed to chase him since he had seen the boat.

Capitalizing on his opponent’s hesitation, the Trapper lunged―not at Hiccup, but at the window. In a fluid movement, he flung it open and stepped halfway through the frame before turning his head towards his still-stunned opponent. With a gritty voice that sounded like it was spoken through a buzzing swarm, he smirked, “ **you may have gotten a reprieve thanks to Fenrir, Hiccup, but now I’ve found you. Better watch your back.** ” With that, he slid the rest of the way through the window and fell.

Hiccup didn’t hear the splash of water through the ringing in his ears, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have followed. His face had gone pale and his limbs weak, and he could barely keep himself from throwing up on the floor. Finally, he recognized the feeling that had been haunting him since seeing the ship. Covering his mouth with a hand, he murmured almost imperceptibly, “Nidhogg…”

* * *

Hiccup and Valka finished their cleaning of the ship and prepared to return to the Haven, but Hiccup barely said a word from then on. Bodies were disposed of, weapons were gathered, and materials were collected. Once a second group of dragons, ones with the strength to pull the boat to the haven, arrived, Hiccup and Valka flew back to their island.

“I am sorry, Hiccup.” Valka spoke softly as the two of them landed. “I never expected this to take such a toll on you. Give yourself time to rest, dear. I won’t force this on you again.” She slipped off Cloudjumper and turned to help Hiccup down. “And get some food―you’re still pale as a spirit.”

Hiccup slid off the dragon and landed next to his mother. His mouth was dry, and his head felt heavy. He wanted to tell her his mistake, but barely a croak came from his throat. Instead, he simply stepped closer and wrapped her in a tight embrace; Valka was shocked still, with the first gesture of familial love since he had arrived.

He held it for a few moments, then let go and wordlessly shuffled off. He would get food, as Valka had told him to, but he had no time for rest. He had to prepare―and he couldn’t waste a minute. One short pit stop later, Hiccup was at the ruined docks, stripping every ship of their valuables, even things he had previously left when scavenging the boats. Metal scraps, boards, and clothing. Anything that wasn’t burned, rotted, or in terrible disrepair was collected. Now was the time to think on a much larger scale―Hiccup had to protect far more than himself.

* * *

Three months had passed since Hiccup’s departure, and Toothless’s growth was shocking by all accounts. Or rather, by Fenrir’s accounts, who insisted that his opinion was the most important. Toothless didn’t quite agree, but he knew that his growth was impressive, to say the least.

Making a connection with his patron had been slow but steady ever since the strange experience in the pool had given him a scare. He had told Fenrir about it, and had in turn been told that, once fully merged with his god’s blessing, he was likely to have a weak but innate magic ability. “They’re rare. I had one myself before I fully inherited this body,” Fenrir had bragged, “but I never had to use it in a fight. That’s just how strong I am.”

After some practice, Toothless could safely begin to test his new abilities. He was able to erase his presence―so much so that he didn’t even register as there with echolocation. Even when fighting, he could use it to slip out of sight and hide. It was a fickle ability, only usable in darkness or shadow, but he had hope that it would grow as the blessing continued to grow inside him.

Unfortunately, his ability was nearly useless against his mentor. The beams of lightning cut through darkness like a farmer through wheat, and even when he had the chance to disappear into the darkness, Fenrir’s experience simply was too monumental to overcome. No matter how much the Night Fury trained, it seemed he was just a step behind. Cloaked in lightning, the larger dragon was a perfect counter to Toothless’s newfound power. 

This was not to say that Toothless’s only improvement was in his god’s blessing. Comparing the current Toothless to the Toothless of even one month ago would show a stark difference. His body had strengthened and his mind had toughened. Fenrir had drilled into him the basics of a fighting style for dragons, a sort of parallel to martial arts. He had learned about the gods and their blessings: how they were inherited and how they manifested.

“Most large communities have at least one major figure, right? Odds are, that figure has a blessing.” Fenrir had explained to Toothless. “Sometimes it’s a minor god’s blessing, and sometimes the figure doesn’t even realize that their strength is due to the gods. But mark my words, every large group―dragon or human―has at least one demigod.”

Toothless couldn’t help but feel doubtful, so he’d pressed the issue. “On Berk, the only one with strange abilities was an old seer. She wasn’t a leader, and no one else on the island had anything like it. Are you telling me that the only demigod on Berk was some wizened old lady who couldn’t fight to save her life?”

“Brother, do you ever listen?” Fenrir had sighed, “ _ At least one, _ meaning there can be multiple in the same community. It is rather rare, but for large communities, two or three demigods is nothing too surprising. Factoring in even the most minor blessings, there are more demigods than you might expect.” he paused, then mentioned offhandedly. “For instance, where Hiccup is training, there are three different demigods. Well four, I suppose.” He’d muttered as an afterthought.

“And Hiccup? Will he get a blessing?”

Fenrir had gone silent for a moment, then answered, “That’s not an answer I can give. I saw the potential for a blessing, but he failed my trial. He may never have the chance again, and if he does, it’ll be as difficult―if not more.”

Toothless had scowled, but he’d understood that Fenrir wouldn’t have lied to him.

He kept training. If Hiccup couldn’t receive a blessing, then it would be Toothless’s turn to be the protector.

* * *

It had been six months since Hiccup had last seen Toothless, and like his scaly counterpart, he was nearly unrecognizable. In Hiccup’s case, however, it was not all a positive change.

In the months since the ambush, he’d spent months tinkering, building both large and small. He built gating structures on the beaches with wood from the boats, and he built small traps with the excess metal. If Nidhogg could control others, maybe even multiple people at once, what stopped him from swarming the Haven with armies of his enslaved minions?

Hiccup was building maniacally, to say the least. 

Sleep was no longer a thing of rest for him, however. Since his encounter with Nidhogg, Hiccup had been plagued with nightmares that left him panic-stricken and shaking. He took care to avoid the oppressive feeling near the Bewilderbeast, as it reminded him too much of Nidhogg’s overbearing presence. Recalling any memories linked to the god caused Hiccup to fly into a panicked state, and he kept a torch or candle lit around him at all times. High-strung and jumping at every shadow, Hiccup felt like he was slowly descending into madness.

Valka, on the other hand, was openly suspicious. While she didn’t seem to know about Hiccup’s nightmarish episodes or his mishap fighting the Trapper, she could tell that he was deteriorating. Combined with the structures he was building on the shores, it was clear that something was amiss. She tried confronting him, but her questions were often deflected or answered with half-truths. Eventually, Hiccup began secluding himself away so well that his mother had trouble locating him, despite her many years becoming familiar with the land.

Not all of Hiccup’s endeavors were driven by his fear of invasion, however. For one, he improved his prosthetics past their previous, refined forms. Now, they were crammed with new gadgets he had invented; like a compact crossbow, a reel-in hook, and small packets full of easily flammable materials. While still sleek, his arm and leg were far more lethal than they had been before. 

He had also finished the weapon forged from the strange chains: a hammer, not unlike the ones that his father used. In a moment of spiteful pique, he’d named it Mjolnir, fully aware of the blasphemy. It was a beautifully carved piece of work; even Gobber would’ve been impressed. In this new form, Hiccup was working to probe the magic that it contained―both the inherent and the acquired. While he was making nearly no headway with the magic it had previously contained, the magic binding him to the hammer seemed to grow stronger as he inspected it.

No matter what he did, he felt underprepared. All he could do was train, build, and grow stronger. He hoped it would be enough, but he doubted it ever would be.


	23. The Final Test

Valka slowly climbed down the cliff face overlooking the boat graveyard. It had filled quickly in the past few months, resulting in an influx of resources for the only two humans on the island. It was a curse and a blessing ―Valka knew that once she got used to the comfort of excess, she’d start to crave it once it was gone. It’d happened when she had first arrived, and she didn’t want to go through it again.

It was nearing the eighth month of Hiccup’s stay, but in recent weeks, it felt like Hiccup had disappeared from the Haven almost entirely. His effect on the Haven had only grown since, however; even the newest boats in the ravine had been gutted, their materials used across the island’s icy shores. Dragons often swarmed the air around it, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive boy. His popularity among the dragons had risen quickly, making him some sort of celebrity among the dragons of the Haven, although Valka could hardly guess how.

Reaching the ground near the boats, Valka wandered close to their debilitated corpses, running her hand along the sea-weathered wood. They were bare skeletons of the proud vessels they had once been, torn apart by Hiccup and his mad rush of building machines of war. 

Valka was not blind. She had noticed Hiccup’s silence after the ambush and assumed the worst. She’d searched the ship prow to quarterdeck, then searched again. She’d sent her dragons to patrol the scene of the ambush, then went to investigate personally. It had been a fruitless search, only proving to confuse her more. The months since, she had watched her son spiraling into madness, unable to do anything to help.

She had even gone to the lady in the mist ―the mysterious demigod residing in the Smokebreath Caverns who even Valka had never personally met. The two of them spoke for a short time, but in the end it was a wasted trip. While the demigod refused to reveal the exact nature of her blessing, she had promised that it was nothing that could help Hiccup.

Valka let her hand fall with a sigh, and walked along the lengths of boats, searching for something to point her towards Hiccup’s newest hideaway. He’d quickly learned how to escape her watchful eye, and sometimes days or weeks could pass without catching a glimpse of her son. When she put her mind to finding him, however, it was impossible for him to hide. 

Hearing a low grumble from the air, Valka turned to see Cloudjumper landing on a piece of one of the torn-apart ships. Perched like a bird on a twig, he steadied himself and stared down at the wreckage around him with a haughty look. Since the day she had arrived, she had loved that stare; the look of a ruler among his citizens. 

It reminded her of Stoick.

Hiccup reminded her of Stoick as well, albeit in a different way. Hiccup was everything that Stoick wasn’t, and vice versa. From what Hiccup had told her, the two had never seen eye to eye. When she looked at her son, however, she saw something they refused to see in each other: they both had the same passion inside them. They had the same hot blood in their veins, no matter how differently they expressed it. 

Valka walked towards Cloudjumper, reaching a hand towards the dragon. In return, he leaned down to meet her, moving past her hand to press his forehead against hers. They both were still for a moment, then Valka lifted her arms to give the great beast a fleeting embrace. “Thank you, Cloudjumper,” she whispered with her eyes closed, “my thoughts were running away with me.”

The dragon snorted a puff of smoke in return, and while Valka couldn’t understand him, she knew he had understood her. She backed away a few steps and smiled up at him. Again, he snorted, this time hopping up to fly around in search of Hiccup. As he flew away, Valka smiled gratefully after him ―even with his disdain for Hiccup, the dragon helped her search. 

Turning back to the wreckage around her, Valka breathed a deep breath. Using her blessing would cause a migraine to plague her for the next two days at least, but it would be better to find Hiccup soon. With a short spike of pain through her head, Valka’s senses sharpened. The air around her seemed to shimmer, and the few dragons flying nearby quieted themselves. 

Information began piecing itself together in her mind, connecting puzzle pieces that she hadn’t thought to link together. She walked along the boats’ sides, investigating the way they’d been taken apart and their positions. She noticed small scratches, caught subtle footprints, and without much issue, spotted a path leading out of the valley. It was open yet secluded, allowing someone to carry wood and metal out of the graveyard without much trouble. Valka had no doubt that it was the path her son had been using.

Following the path and loosening her use of her blessing, she searched for her son. More subtle clues pointed her in the right direction: broken branches, tiny metal scraps or splinters, a half-footprint in soft dirt. She walked slowly, releasing her blessing and rubbing her temples in an attempt to lessen the inevitable headache. 

In a moment of pure luck, the slow walk saved her life.

Valka’s foot tripped a fine line, and barely three inches from her face an arrow whizzed by, sticking itself into the ground. She froze, then reactivated her blessing with a wince. Looking at the cliff face above her, she saw a small machine cleverly hidden by an overhanging bunch of moss. She recognized it as one Hiccup had shown her previously, calling it a crossbow. 

Taking more care to watch where she stepped, and now using the blessing to survey her surroundings, Valka moved on. It was slow going, but with her senses pushed to the max, it was nearly impossible for her to overlook the lethal traps hidden along the path. 

Valka knew she was no fighter. Her blessing was minor, and her connection to the deity providing it was superficial at best. Years had passed since she had first received the blessing, and she had barely scratched the surface of its abilities. Even Hiccup had been able to beat her and Cloudjumper: an unblessed teenager taking down two blessed individuals. Even though they had been using physical abilities alone, Hiccup had accomplished an amazing feat.

Seeing him in such pain now made her realize just how helpless she really was.

Turning a sharp corner overlooking the boat graveyard, Valka found herself looking at a natural clump of vines hanging over an opening in the rock. Pushing them aside, she ducked into the cramped opening.

While powerful for gathering and linking information, her blessing had weaknesses. The headache was only a small part of a much greater whole. After testing, Valka had found that the cause was an overload of information; her senses were too sharp, and the resulting input was too much for her to handle. But the input from humans or dragons? It was enough to knock her out.

After making sure there were no more traps, Valka released her blessing once again. Her boosted senses hadn’t picked up any movement from inside the cave, so Hiccup must’ve been out, perhaps building on the beaches again. Valka crawled in, hoping she could find some indication of where he would be, perhaps a map or a journal.

As the tunnel opened, Valka straightened up and brushed a rough cloth hung as a door out of her way. She stepped into the well-lit room and froze.

In front of her stood Hiccup; his eyes were bloodshot and his hands were shaking, holding a knife up to her face. He looked dirty and tired, but more than anything he looked small, like a scared child in an unfamiliar place. She opened her mouth to speak, and Hiccup jerked the knife forward to silence her.

“Don’t speak,” barked Hiccup, “and show me your eyes. And don’t move. Don’t try to...anything. Don’t try anything.” His breath was short and erratic. As he moved closer, staring deep into her eyes, Valka barely breathed, barely allowed herself to move. Hiccup simply stared, unmoving, with the same tired intensity.

Finally, he fell back, dropping the knife, and Valka allowed herself to take a deep breath.

Now that she was safe, she allowed her eyes to wander the room. It was cramped, full of papers and raw materials and half-finished machinery. The room was lit by candles and torches strewn about the floor and hung on the walls, and there were so many that Valka saw spots in her vision after a quick glance. She looked down at her son, and he seemed even wearier than she had first realized; he looked as if he hadn’t washed or slept in days. 

“Hiccup, what...what’s happened to you?”

“Why are you here, Valka.” It was spoken flat, toneless, as if it was supposed to answer her question.

“Answer me Hiccup! What’s happened to you? Why are you hiding away?”

“Nidhogg happened.” The name of the demon seemed to sweep shadow into the corners of the brightly lit room. The quiet, sullen statement was all he would say on the subject, no matter how Valka pried. Hiccup had closed his mind, and with it, his mouth.

After a minute of silently enduring Valka’s interrogation on the topic, Hiccup snapped back, “Why are you here? To punish me for hiding? To drag me out? Let me build in peace, Valka. You don’t need me out in the Haven regardless.”

“Oh?” Valka scowled, “build in peace? I notice you’ve been taking resources from the new boats I’ve been dispatching. You wouldn’t happen to have any idea about that, would you?” She noticed her son’s eye twitch, saw his facial features harden, and decided to press on. I need you, Hiccup, to help me in a fight that I am blind in.” She paused, then spoke more softly, “have you ever heard the name Drago Bludvist?”

Hiccup shook his head glumly.

She continued, “He was a dangerous warlord from the southern mainland when I lived on Berk. He had a massive following and, according to Stoick, controlled his armada of humans and dragons through fear. I found papers on the Trapper’s recent boat, detailing their mission from Drago, simply to scout out this area. Does that sound like an accident, Hiccup?”

Straining to keep his emotionless facade up, Hiccup growled, “No, that seems odd.” The silence between the two stretched, and Valka glared down into her son’s eyes harshly. His mask was beginning to crack; his eyes wouldn’t meet hers, and his fingers twitched nervously at his sides.

Finally, as the silence drew longer, the mask chipped. It did not shatter, but it was enough to let the truth slip out.

“I…” Hiccup slowly stuttered, “I may be...partially to blame for that.” Valka made no reaction, simply waiting for him to continue. “When we ambushed the Trapper’s ship, I went to investigate the lower levels, as you had told me to. In the captain’s quarters, there was a Trapper who had hidden away from the fighting―he tried to kill me, and I fought him off. He escaped when Nidhogg took over his body, just like...just like he’d done with me. I…” Hiccup trailed off without finishing the story, pale and short of breath, but Valka was satisfied. She felt relieved to finally hear the whole story.

Kneeling down and embracing her son, Valka realized how small her son really was―ever since he’d arrived, he’d seemed bigger than he was. His brilliant mind, his well-honed fighting skills, his transcendent mechanical knowledge; only now did Valka feel that she’d seen a piece of the true Hiccup, past all the walls he’d built to keep others out.

Valka held the embrace until she felt Hiccup’s shivers fade; even once she pulled back, his face was bloodless and pale. He looked more frightened than she had ever seen a person be. “Thank you, Hiccup.” She spoke softly, “for finally telling me. I know that was difficult for you. But now is not the time to be hiding away.” Pulling her son to his feet, Valka put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “You need to prepare to leave.”

Sputtering, Hiccup looked up into her eyes for the first time since his story. “You―you’re kicking me out? Banishing me?”

“No, no,” Valka chuckled with a stern face, “Although I would if it were anyone else. What’s done is done. You’ve trained to your limits here, there’s nothing more for you. You know how to train dragons, you’ve built impressive machinery, and I’ve certainly been trounced by your hand-to-hand strength. No, I’m sending you to Fenrir.”

“But...doesn’t Toothless need to finish his training? It’s only been, what, five months?”

“Hiccup, you’ve been here for almost eight months. You’ve been hiding away for weeks at a time―it was close to the four-month mark when we made that first ambush. I got word just this morning that Toothless has finished his training, at least enough to satisfy Fenrir. It would only be a waste to train the two of you apart, now.”

“But...the Haven?”

“I’ll be staying here, Hiccup. Fenrir has more to teach you in terms of blessings, skills, and how to fight against Nidhogg.” Valka’s gaze grew stern once again. “But if I need you to return to protect the Haven, if it is ever endangered; you must rush back. I need you to promise me. That is how you will redeem your mistake.” Hiccup nodded solemnly, staring back into Valka’s eyes.

“Good.” Valka gave Hiccup a slap on the back. “Go wash up, Hiccup, then we can collect your things. And disarm those traps of yours as well, please.”

Hiccup turned to walk out of the cave, and as soon as his back was turned, Valka’s eyes narrowed. She let her blessing flow through her for the third time in an hour, attempting to ignore the stab of pain spiking through her head. She stared at the opening that her son was leaving through.

She got no reaction, just like when she had been entering the cave―it was as if he did not exist. 

Her blessing had one more weakness. While it overloaded her with information from normal people and dragons, anyone with a blessing slipped through the cracks. It normally wouldn’t matter, since demigods could often sense each other’s presences. She had discovered this by accident while training with Cloudjumper, but it was a vital ability to be aware of. And the fact that she was aware of it was what made it strange that Hiccup caused no reaction from either her blessing, nor the connection between demigods.

He didn’t have a blessing...did he?

* * *

Fenrir was not looking forward to training the baggage he had sent away. While yes, he acknowledged that the boy would’ve no doubt gotten stronger training at the Haven, the boy was still human. When he had first given the Skrill his blessing, they had fought against and killed many of the strongest of humans; even now, as a full god, Fenrir still had a distaste for humans.

Backstabbers, all of them. They reminded him too much of how he’d been locked away in the first place.

Something at the edge of his vision caught his eye, and he turned to find Toothless pacing the brightly lit cavern once again. From his perch, Fenrir barked down, “Sit still and wait, brother. The boy will get here eventually. Hopefully later rather than sooner.”

Scowling, Toothless sat at the edge of the opening to the underground waterfall. Instead of replying to the bitter reptile, he began to meditate, hoping to make another step in connecting with his god. Two months had passed since any significant improvement had occurred, and Toothless had begun to feel restless, as if he was missing something important. 

Fenrir snorted and laid back down. Human aside, he was interested in how strong the boy had grown in the time away. If what Toothless and Valka had said were true, his mind was developed well beyond his years, and had the combat skills to match. Fenrir hated to admit it, but he would be a good match for Toothless’s yet unpolished talent.

A weak presence caught his attention. Two tiny glowing lights in a sea of grey fog, so close they looked like one oddly shaped glow.  _ That would be the woman and Cloudjumper _ , thought Fenrir,  _ let’s see how long it takes for my pupil to notice.  _ Fenrir, airing more on the side of a natural learning environment, eyed Toothless carefully. The more you told someone what to do, the less they learned.

As Fenrir had expected, within a few minutes, Toothless perked up. Acting uninterested, he turned toward the smaller dragon. “What are you doing?”

“There’s something...moving towards us? I’m not sure how to explain it…” Toothless spoke haltingly, as if he doubted the words coming out of his mouth. He glanced at Fenrir, then looked away with a confused expression on his face.

“Focus on it. See if you can pinpoint where, or what. It’s an elementary skill that you’ll need to master; it shouldn’t take longer than a few weeks of training.”

“And you didn’t tell me about this?” Toothless glared at his mentor, who snorted derisively and laid back down to rest. As the Night Fury scowled and closed his eyes to focus, Fenrir let a small grin creep over his face. Although Toothless seemed dissatisfied with his own performance, the god was quite impressed with his growth. In their mock fights, he even had to put some effort into beating the young dragon down. Eight months of training had been enough to put Toothless on par with many seasoned demigods

The two of them waited silently, listening to the steady rumble of the waterfall as it washed deeper into the cavern. One looked down, quietly proud of his student’s accomplishments; the other looked inward, not allowing a moment to go by without training to his peak.

Within ten or so minutes, the two dragons had left the cavern to greet the approaching guests. The tide was still high, so they had to find their way through the underground tunnels, rather than flying out the waterfall’s opening directly. When they eventually crawled out, the sky was a dull grey, punctuated only occasionally by sun poking through holes in the clouds. On the horizon, two small specks were growing larger as they flew closer.

Soon, the approaching dragons flew down to set their loads on the rocky beach. Each one carried a wooden crate of materials, neither abnormally large nor particularly small. They were filled to the brim with metal scraps and tools, and Fenrir scowled at the idea that his peaceful island would become a place of hammering and forging.

Valka slid off Cloudjumper as he landed, and Hiccup did the same from a dully colored Rumblehorn. It snorted and pawed the ground, then lifted into the air again to fly back the way it had come. Hiccup turned to greet his old friend, but by the time he had, Toothless had already happily pounced upon him.

Fenrir watched the two reunite, then turned away, uninterested. Valka, walking towards him, nodded coldly in greeting―they were not on particularly good terms, but at least they both acknowledged each other.

“I hope your son has improved.” grunted Fenrir, “I wouldn’t want to waste my student’s talent pairing him with an unable partner.”

Valka hesitated, then responded, “He’s grown, but he’s gained a weakness as well. Nidhogg drove a thorn far deeper than I can fix, and I noticed only recently. I’m ashamed to say that I’m nowhere near strong enough to train him any better.”

Fenrir didn’t respond, instead turning to stare at the boy, currently being flattened by the Night Fury and covered in its saliva. He looked thin, had bags under his eyes. He laughed and smiled at Toothless gallivanting around him, but Fenrir could tell that the boy was straining to keep a strong face up.

“I see.” said Fenrir quietly. He did not elaborate, and Valka did not push him.

“There is one other thing…” Valka started, then trailed off. Fenrir glanced at her, gestured for her to continue, and looked back to the two reuniting. Valka detailed Hiccup’s strange immunity to her blessing, and how she’d found out about it. “If you have any insights, I would be glad to hear them. I’m no expert on blessings, even my own.” she finished.

Fenrir grunted in response, staring intensely at the boy. He certainly lacked the telling ‘glow’ of a demigod, but there was something there. That something was normally an indicator that it was  _ possible  _ for him to receive a blessing, but could Fenrir be missing something?

“I’ll test him. And no matter how subtly you plead, I won’t teach you, woman.” Fenrir mused. Ever since they had met, Valka had been trying to get Fenrir’s assistance in connection to her deity. Ever since they had met, Fenrir had refused. He did not plan to change his mind.

Sighing, Valka lifted her hand in the air and called for Cloudjumper; he flew back to her, water dripping off of him and mouth full of fish. “Hiccup!” she shouted as she climbed onto Cloudjumper’s back. “Train well. And remember your promise.” Hiccup nodded, and Valka smiled, satisfied.

As she flew off, Fenrir spoke sharply to Hiccup for the first time. “So, boy, what’s your blessing?” 

Hiccup jumped, then turned to the god. “Blessing?”

“It’s probably something stealth-based, if even I can’t tell that you have one. If I train you, you’ll be unstoppable when paired with a good partner.” Fenrir nodded towards Toothless, in example. “So I’ll ask again. What’s your blessing?”

“I...I have one? I thought when I climbed out of the pit that _ you _ threw me into,” Hiccup shot an angry glare at the god, “that you’d said that I’d failed.”

“You had. But I hadn’t realized that you were already blessed. It makes sense―eating a living root of the Yggdrasil tree would kill any normal human. The only possibility is that you had a blessing before you met me. Are you trying to tell me that you are unaware?”

“I...guess? What is it supposed to feel like?”

Fenrir snorted. Toothless, standing next to Hiccup, felt a shiver run down his spine; he recognized the look on his mentor’s face. It was the same look that he had learned to fear. Turning to look at his friend, he hoped the boy would survive Fenrir’s spartan training.

“Find a room and put your things in it. Come get me once you’re ready for training.” Fenrir slunk away, leaving the two on the beach and grinning in anticipation of training the child. 

* * *

Over the next hour, Hiccup and Toothless brought down the crates into the caverns. Toothless had led them to a dimly lit room with a pillar of stone reaching to the ceiling. There were claw marks and blackened stone all over, and Hiccup could tell it was the Night Fury’s home.

It looked like he had a roommate now.

Most of what Hiccup had brought was unimportant, and could be left alone for the time being: clothes, metal scraps, blueprints and bits of machinery that had no certain purpose. He left them in the crate, making a mental note to organize them later. He set up a bed consisting of two rough blankets on the flattest surface he could find, then put his only things of importance next to it: the Yggdrasil root and Mjolnir. The crystal that he had brought to the Haven had eventually been broken down and used to reinforce his metal appendages; now that he had returned to Fenrir’s cavern, he idly considered going back down to collect more.

After sharing a half-chewed fish with Toothless, the Hiccup proceeded to go find Fenrir, with the Night Fury following behind him.

The Skrill was lounging in the same spot he always did: the spire lifting into the center of the crystal-lit cavern. Waves of mist floated along the ground, slickening the dark stone around the opening to the waterfall. Hiccup looked up to the backlit god, and in return he looked down on the boy.

“Are you ready to begin?” No greeting, no acknowledgement, only the question.

Hiccup nodded, and Fenrir leaped down to land lightly next to him. He turned to Toothless and quipped, “train on your own for now. See if you can sense me while I’m training him.” Without looking at Hiccup, he began walking out of the cavern. “Follow me, boy.”

They walked through crystal-encrusted tunnels in silence. At times, they split up to take different paths, some too small for Fenrir, others too high for Hiccup. After a while, however, they stopped in a dead end lit dimly by a few scattered crystals on the floor.

“The most basic trait that a demigod can use is a way to sense other blessed individuals. Even if you do not have an understanding of your own blessing, you will be able to do this.” The dragon turned around, facing Hiccup. “Where am I?”

Hiccup narrowed his eyes, trying to tell whether or not this was a joke. “What do you mean?”

Unamused, Fenrir repeated, “Where am I?”

In response, Hiccup pointed at him. “You’re right in front of me.”

“Good.” Fenrir spat a bolt of lightning at the ground near Hiccup’s feet. Three of the crystals illuminating the room burst, and Hiccup jumped back in surprise. It was now uncomfortably dim, enough to barely see the outline of their surroundings. “Can you find me without your vision?” Fenrir spat another bright burst at the floor, and the cavern went pitch-black. “Where am I?”

Hiccup smiled. Although he couldn’t see, the echoes of Fenrir’s voice didn’t distract him; he’d heard where the voice had come from. Pointing to the right, slightly behind him, Hiccup said hesitantly, “There.”

“Good.” After a moment, Fenrir’s voice stopped echoing. Suddenly, Hiccup heard his voice inside his head. “Where am I?”

As the voice went silent, Hiccup strained to hear anything. He heard nothing but his own breathing. His eyes were useless as well, with no difference between opening or closing them. He felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean, perfectly still yet crushed by the pressure.

A familiar light seemed to jump out at him in the darkness, although he couldn’t place where he knew it from. Hiccup pointed at it and spoke confidently, “There.”

“No.” The resulting blow knocked Hiccup over, and when he stood back up, he didn’t know which way he was standing, or where the middle of the room even was. 

“What was that for, asshole?” Another slap blindsided him, this time harder. Hiccup realized that it had to be Fenrir’s tail, so powerful yet small and whiplike.

“Blind guesses will not be rewarded, boy. Learn to look with more than your eyes.”

“How am I supposed to do that when you haven’t taught me?”

“I am teaching you. You simply refuse to learn.”

He made no response. Scowling, Hiccup paused again, trying to find something without knowing what it was. He closed his eyes―not to block out any light, but to help him focus. Breathing slowly, he remembered the feeling of the demigods he’d been near. He lowered himself deep into his own mind.

First, there was silence.

But suddenly, he heard a roar echoing in his head. Not from Fenrir; the dragon was staying as silent as ever. No, this was the same roar he’d heard facing down Nidhogg. Icy fear rushed through Hiccup’s veins like a waterfall, and he let out a frightened yell. This was not just a memory, it felt like a hand gripping his throat. Shaking and struggling to breathe, Hiccup reached out to grasp at something, anything. 

The same familiar light he’d seen before blossomed out of the darkness, and Hiccup reached for it. For the first time, he felt it connect to him―and he  _ pulled _ .

The light shot towards him, and Hiccup fell forward onto his knees gasping for a breath and retching. Fenrir’s stern voice rang out, but the words were barely more than garbled noise in Hiccup’s ears. The light was speeding towards him, and he stretched his right arm out towards it. He heard a crunching noise in front of him.

Something broke through the wall and collided with Hiccup; he caught it, and the momentum drove him back onto his feet, nearly knocking him over backwards. The light was still there in Hiccup’s eyes, although the object itself let off no light. For a moment, the stillness returned to the cavern.

But the object wasn’t done pulling yet.

Across Fenrir’s body, (who was now revealed to be right next to Hiccup) lightning began to spark, illuminating the cavern ominously. A second later, the lightning moved as if magnetized to the object in Hiccup’s hand, sparking around it and shocking Hiccup. In the newfound light, he could finally see what the object was.

Mjolnir. His mocking version of a god’s weapon seemed to have some strange abilities of its own.

Fenrir roared. Hiccup couldn’t make out much of what he’d said over the crackling of the electricity, but it seemed closer to an angry yell than any specific words. Without warning, Fenrir upped the output of lightning dancing across his skin, blasting a white-hot bolt towards the hammer. 

The resulting blast threw Hiccup backwards like a doll. The last thing Hiccup saw was his hammer, immobile in the air where he’d held it a moment before, withstanding the full strength of Fenrir.

When he woke a few minutes later, the room was dimly lit once again, as it had been when they had first arrived. Fenrir’s body was laying next to him, shifting slightly in place with labored breaths. Hiccup tried to speak, but only groaned as pain wracked his body. Fenrir, on the other hand, perked up.

“How do you feel?” Although blunt as ever, Hiccup could hear a different, less surly tone in Fenrir’s voice. 

“Bad. My head hurts.”

“You should take a few days to rest. It will heal with time. More importantly,” Fenrir stood up, and Hiccup noticed small, streaking burns along his body. “We need to discuss that hammer of yours.”

Fenrir walked slowly over to the opposite side of the cavern, and Hiccup noticed Mjolnir. Somehow, it still stood immoble in the air, a few feet above the ground, exactly where he had last seen it. “What…” he croaked in disbelief. 

“What caused such an outburst?”

Hiccup flinched, trying not to think of Nidhogg. Was it possible that the god was still manipulating him, hiding in the recesses of his mind? He stayed silent, and the Skrill seemed to take it as an answer.

“I hadn’t realized before, but you used the chains to make this, didn’t you?” Fenrir mused with a grudging respect. “The chains that once held a god captive.” Hiccup grunted in assent, and Fenrir nodded. “Impressive that you even managed to craft using them. They were painstakingly forged by the Dwarves…” He trailed off, staring at the beautifully crafted weapon.

“Why did it...do that?” asked Hiccup.

“My guess is that after a millenia, the chains were empty of their requisite magic. They needed to feed, and now that they have, your hammer is recharged. It would’ve suppressed me entirely, but it is no longer pure―you used other metals in the creation of the hammer?

Hiccup nodded, sitting up slowly. Fenrir continued, “you can feel it’s glow, can’t you? Even more now than before, no doubt. Once you are healed, You’ll have to learn to manipulate its inherent magical properties.” Fenrir turned to Hiccup. “I cannot move it. Bring it and find a place to rest.”

Moving slowly, Hiccup felt all over his body, probing for injuries worse than bruises and scrapes, but to his relief he found none. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to the floating hammer. He reached out with his left hand and lifted it to his side as he walked past it. 

Instead of moving, however, the hammer stayed as immobile as ever. Hiccup almost pulled himself off his feet as he moved past, but instead let go and turned to face it. Using both hands to tug, he strained against it with his whole body. It did not move, although Hiccup could’ve sworn he felt something different that time.

“What are you doing?” Fenrir had paused at the exit of the cave, waiting for him.

“It won’t move.”

“Why not?”   
  


“How am I supposed to know?” snapped Hiccup. “It’s nothing like last time!” Fenrir simply smiled and sat in front of the exit, blocking it almost entirely with his large frame.

“It is exactly the same. We will not be leaving until you can bring the hammer with you.”

No matter how much Hiccup groaned and protested, Fenrir was as immovable as the hammer. Hiccup pulled, kicked, and yelled at the hammer, all to no avail. After an hour, he sighed and laid down, closing his eyes and planning to rest his aching body.

The moment he closed his eyes, a crackling light blinded him. Hiccup almost mistook it for Fenrir’s lightning, but it was different, a strange color. He cracked his eyes open, squinting the spots out of his vision, but nothing happened―he was still in the same dimly lit room. He closed his eyes again and hesitantly reached out to it.

A dull clunk shook him out of his stupor. Opening his eyes, he saw that the hammer had finally fallen to the ground. Fenrir said nothing, simply raising one eyebrow (or the dragon’s equivalent to one) and stretching out his legs. Hiccup crawled over to the hammer and pulled, but it was once again stuck in place.

Hiccup scowled, unsure how to put the two seemingly separate entities, the light and the hammer, together. Flopping back onto the floor, he mulled over ideas, none of which seemed to make sense. Glancing at Fenrir and seeing nothing but a smug grin on his face, Hiccup finally gave up trying to be rational. None of this magic seemed to make sense―he wouldn’t be, either.

With a chuckle, Hiccup stood and stared at the hammer, then slowly closed one eye. Somehow, the light and the hammer seemed to overlap, and Hiccup reached out to grab them. With barely any difficulty (in fact, it seemed lighter than ever), the hammer lifted off the ground. Fenrir snorted, but he stood and began walking, leaving the exit open.

“You’ll train with that for now, boy. I hope you’re ready for it.”

* * *

The following few months were hellish for Hiccup. Fenrir gave him either irritatingly vague or impossibly specific tasks to complete, saying they were important for his training. Hiccup had to keep the hammer with him at all times, for one, and that meant keeping the light in his mind’s eye constantly. Although he had learned to do so without keeping one eye closed, it was mentally exhausting, like a workout with a muscle he’d never known existed.

At times, the tasks took him days to complete right. Tasks like summoning the hammer from across the caverns without touching a single wall, or keeping the hammer floating next to him for hours on end. At times, the tasks were a joy to complete. Fenrir once challenged Hiccup to climb into the air using only the hammer, and taking advantage of it’s immobility, he found himself higher than many small dragons could fly. It was less of a joy when Fenrir challenged him to get back to the ground with nothing but the hammer, but that is a story for another day.

Regardless of how Hiccup felt about the tasks, it was undeniable that he was growing very proficient with Mjolnir, like it was just another body part of his. He’d even managed to shoot out some of the lightning that Fenrir had pumped the hammer full of, although only once, and was unable to replicate it again. They had not trained in how to find Hiccup’s elusive deity, and while he caught furtive glances from Fenrir at times, they never returned to the topic.

Hiccup also trained with Toothless at times, although his ability to disappear made it hard to coordinate attacks. They practiced flying together, practiced complex maneuvers and attack patterns. With Toothless’s speed and power and Hiccup’s unique weaponry (both his dragon suit and the hammer), the two were strong enough to challenge even the strongest demigods, Fenrir had said.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t been all he’d said.

“At the end of your fourth month here, or whenever you think you’re ready, we’ll have your final test. If you haven’t learned enough to beat me together, I’m throwing you out, boy.” Hiccup had protested, but Fenrir was decidedly unmovable. “Train hard.”

That had been three and a half months ago. Insane as it might sound, Hiccup and Toothless were ready.

Hiccup and Toothless stood on the beach as Fenrir took off, steadying himself in the air at the height of two houses. It was twilight and the sun was setting, sending orange streaks across the icy ocean. Fenrir stared down at them and roared in challenge. Toothless roared in response, and Hiccup climbed onto his mount’s back.

Today, he wore a thinner version of his dragonsuit, consisting mostly of the basic layer and some secondary padding and armor. Fenrir could punch through his defenses as if they weren’t there, so no need to weigh down Toothless more than necessary. 

They lifted off the ground and slowly made a wide circle around Fenrir; he turned with them, not giving the slightest opening for the two to exploit. Flying higher, they peaked just under the sparse cloud cover and hovered there for a moment. Fenrir, now directly underneath them, clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The two reacted almost before Fenrir shot his first bolt at them, and they twisted out of the way as it tore a hole through the clouds. More bolts whizzed by as they each missed by a hair, and the two prepared their counterattack. Their circling began again, this time with far tighter movements.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes and ceased his reckless attacks; with a powerful burst, he flew upwards, then dove towards the two. Hiccup moved on Toothless’s back, and Fenrir dodged as Mjolnir was flung at his face.

With a concentrated look on his face, Hiccup lifted his hand, and the hammer flew back into it. He grinned, and twisted to fling it at Fenrir’s rapidly approaching form once again. This time, when Fenrir dodged, he shot a pillar of lightning down at the two. Toothless, in return shot a blast of his own blue fire, and the two projectiles exploded on impact. 

The pattern of attacks, dodges, and parries shifted and reversed, but neither side had a distinct advantage after a few minutes. Hiccup leaned down to Toothless’s ears and said under his breath, “We have to try  _ that _ one. It’ll work this time, I promise.” With a nervous snort, Toothless slowed his flight, then boosted forward, circling Fenrir once again.

“Give up, you two!” Fenrir roared with glee. The only time he seemed to show emotions outside of annoyance was when he was fighting. Hiccup ignored him.

As Fenrir breathed in to blast another bolt at the two, they turned straight towards him. Hiccup threw Mjolnir, then cut his connection to it, freezing it in the air just like it had been when he’d first summoned it in the cave with Fenrir. And just like then, the hammer absorbed the bolt with no small explosion of sparks. The two shot towards Fenrir, and Hiccup grabbed the hammer out of the air. 

That’s where it went terribly wrong.

Toothless shot a bolt of his own at the Skrill, and the dragon didn’t move. Instead, cloaked by a myriad of sparks, he howled. Around the three of them, lightning and thunder burst from the clouds like spears. Hiccup hadn’t noticed until now, but as their fighting had gotten more chaotic, clouds had begun to gather above them One bolt vaporized Toothless’s attack, another singed his wing. He spiraled downwards, but Hiccup had caught himself.

In a single fluid moment as Toothless had fallen, Hiccup had cut connection with Mjolnir, then used it as a springboard to leap towards Fenrir, luckily missing any errant strikes of lightning from the sky. As he landed on the god’s back, he grabbed the spines protruding from the dragon’s skull and summoned the hammer back to him. Ignoring the electricity webbing across Fenrir (and now Hiccup as well), he used the hammer’s momentum to swing heavily into the god’s back.

Lightning struck. Hiccup was unsure whether it was Fenrir’s doing or Mjolnir’s unique properties, but as he struck, lightning blasted down upon the two of them. Hiccup yelled in agony, but he was dwarfed by the massive thunderclap that erupted from above him. If he hadn’t been blinded, he would’ve seen Fenrir roaring as well, both in pain and in exhilaration.

They began to fall towards the icy sea, Hiccup holding on for dear life. Streaking electricity in their wake, they landed hard on water that felt far more solid than it should’ve. Before he had much of a chance to regain his bearings, Hiccup was tackled by a hulking beast, enraged and undefeatable. The two of them landed on the edge of their island, and Hiccup was pressed down against the rocky shore.

“Good try, boy.” Fenrir gasped, standing over Hiccup, “But you lose.”

Hiccup said nothing. He smiled.

Suddenly, Fenrir was thrown back by what seemed to just be a slight discoloration in the air, but a moment later, the camouflage faded away, revealing stark black scales. It was Toothless’s newest trick―while he couldn’t disappear completely in the light, he was able to change his color to match his surroundings. It wasn’t infallible, but to someone unfocused or simply glancing, it was hard to notice.

Fenrir growled, but standing knee-deep in water and facing the two down showed him in quite the disadvantageous position. 

And Hiccup still had one last card to play.

A heavy splash rang out behind Fenrir, and before the beast could turn to look, lightning exploded around him. It was Mjolnir―Hiccup had left it hanging in the air when they’d fallen, and let it drop only now. Something about being struck by lightning had made the right gears in his brain click, and he’d figured out how to release the electricity it had absorbed. Paired with the water to amplify it, the lightning raged outwards. Even Fenrir, a powerful god in an electric-harnessing dragon’s body, couldn’t withstand it.

In a last-ditch effort, Fenrir shot a terrifying bolt of lightning at Hiccup. In retaliation, Hiccup did possibly the stupidest thing yet―he simply stood in place, holding out his right arm as if to catch the bolt. Fenrir’s eyes widened as he watched what would be certain death for the boy.

Toothless roared in surprise, but Hiccup stood as the blast hit him. It sparked around his arm, but it...seemed to stop there? Gritting his teeth, Hiccup stood still until the lightning around him faded. Breathing heavily, he stood tall against both of their amazed stares. As an added flair, he let some excess electricity spark around his arm.

“Good try, Fenrir.” Hiccup smiled, “but you’re the one who lost.” 

Silence. None of them spoke, and only the crackling of electricity could be heard. Even the ocean around seemed silent for once.

“Fine. I yield.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of where I am now in both ff.net and now AO3. From now on I'll be uploading chapters on both as they come out. I hope you enjoyed this fic so far, please let me know if you did! Thanks for reading!


	24. Preparation for War

Chapter 24: Preparation for War

Hiccup woke, aching both inside and out. With a grunt, he sat up and stretched his body out, chasing away the phantom pains from the previous day’s battle. He’d barely stayed standing after Fenrir’s surrender: he’d locked his joints, practically propping himself up on his own bones, and only stayed conscious through sheer willpower and grit. Although he’d forced himself to keep an impressive-looking facade up, that last attack from the god had taken a toll on him.

Fenrir had interrogated him harshly about it, but there was a simple explanation. While training with Mjolnir, Hiccup had found something strange about their connection: the glow that allowed him to move the hammer seemed to surround him as well. Was his body a part of the weapon, or was it part of him?

It had been a risky gamble, but Hiccup had been convinced by the time he tried it ―the scraps he used to augment his arm and leg were part of the same chains, after all. It turned out that he’d been right; the metal still had the same properties, although vastly weaker. Even fully charged from Fenrir’s lightning, he couldn’t freeze his arm in the air, and he couldn’t release more than a weak charge.

Hiccup reached for his hammer, summoning it from the other side of the room. With it, he sent out a small stream of electricity into his leg, charging it to its limit as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have much use, it was always better for him to be prepared. With it connected so directly to him, he felt it buzzing at the edge of his mind, while the hammer felt...different. It was connected to him, but in an unnatural way, like a muscle outside of his body.

Shrugging off the specifics, Hiccup turned to the side as Toothless bounded over to him. Hiccup saw the glowing crystals reflected in his eyes, but he was otherwise invisible, blended with the dark room around him. He held up his right arm and let sparks fly off it, enough to illuminate the dragon in front of him. With a smile, he gave his friend a hug. “I hope you’re feeling alright after yesterday, Toothless.” he murmured, unsure if the Night Fury would understand. 

The two of them had taken a beating from Fenrir, and yet they had won. It was irritating how quickly the god had recovered, pestering the two of them for another fight before the moon had even risen. Even so, they had escaped in one piece. Now it was morning, and they had business to finish.

They made their way to Fenrir’s cavern.

As Hiccup had expected, the god was lounging about, clearly feeling perfectly fine despite the fighting just the previous night. He looked down on the two of them and snorted, “Well here come the sore winners. And I do mean that with every ounce of cleverness, mind you.” Once the two had beaten him the previous evening, Fenrir had changed from a cold mentor to something both more and less irritating―quick as flipping a switch. He didn’t seem to be as outwardly hostile towards Hiccup anymore, but there was still an untrusting look in his beady eyes. At the very least, he seemed to acknowledge the pair’s strength, and in result, had some newfound respect for them.

“Fenrir,” Hiccup spoke, “I need to speak with you.”

“I have questions for you as well, boy. Ask yours.”

“Do I have a blessing?” 

Fenrir raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, prompting Hiccup to continue. “Well, even with Mjolnir, and even with Toothless,” he gestured to the side, where the Night Fury was unceremoniously licking himself, “I can’t imagine that we’d be able to beat you. You explained how you have a mortal body, but still have the strength of a god, so I assumed that I would’ve needed a blessing to―”

“You’re rambling, boy.” Fenrir cut him off. “But no. You have no blessing that I can detect. You simply managed to counter me at every turn: matching me in agility and firepower, then outmaneuvering me in tactics and abilities. I lost a fair fight.”

Hiccup nodded. Although not fully convinced, he understood what Fenrir was getting at: Toothless was nearly on par with Fenrir, after being trained by him for months. Paired with Hiccup’s ingenuity and his near-godly weapon, the two of them were a perfect counter for the god. Perhaps not a fair fight, but a challenge nonetheless.

“Now, I will ask,” Fenrir lazily spoke with a sneer similar to the one he wore when he’d first met Hiccup. “What do you plan to do next? Fly headlong into Nidhogg’s cavern to a fiery doom? Flee with your tail between your legs? Attempt to chain him down, leaving him to rot?” He said the last option with particular malice, and Hiccup felt a chill run down his neck. He had a good enough idea what had happened to Fenrir, for him to act that way towards even Nidhogg’s imprisonment.

“Is there no way we could kill it?” asked Hiccup, “While I was in it’s mind, I learned that there was no way to kill a god, but―”

“What?” snapped Fenrir. “There’s no way to kill a god? Or rather, you learned from inside his mind that there is no way for him to be killed?”

“Ah...yes.” Hiccup replied dejectedly.

Fenrir snorted. Hiccup looked up just in time to see the god roll over laughing, as if he had just heard the best joke since the worlds had been created. Even Toothless stared up in confusion at the great Skrill. 

“Of course, of course,” chuckled Fenrir. “That coward wouldn’t know. He’s never died. Not even once.” 

Turning to the two standing perplexed below him, Fenrir grinned wickedly. “He can be killed. It will take far more than just the three of us, but gods can be killed, just as any other living creature. Under different circumstances, I would not dare―but he believes he cannot be killed. This will breed carelessness, which will lead to weaknesses.”

“It...really can be killed?” Hiccup nearly burst into tears. After so long of believing that he would never be able to fight Nidhogg, this new information shook him to his core. It felt like his first breath of fresh air in months. “I can’t believe...wait, you said we? As in you and us?”

“Indeed. Since you two passed my test, I will work together with the two of you. But mark my words, boy, I will not do as you order me. I will fly alongside you, and I will not sully myself in petty squabbles that do not interest me. I will help you fight Nidhogg, and none others.”

The shock must’ve been evident on Hiccup’s face, because Fenrir snorted as he looked down on them. “Don’t be too shocked, boy. Just one more won’t be enough to beat down Nidhogg.”

“Ah...right.” Hiccup paused. “How will we fight it?” Fenrir raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Hiccup was done dodging the issue. Whatever the answer was, he would find a way to achieve it.

“We will need ten demigods at least, and even then half will die. An army to combat his brood. A surprise attack would be ideal, but with this scope, it would be near-impossible to pull off. All this for the chance to defeat a creature that has lived for millenia. Do you think you have what it takes, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock?”

He was silent. The bare minimum that Fenrir had laid out was surely more than Hiccup alone could accomplish. Even with the help of the Toothless and Fenrir, it would be hard to imagine even accomplishing half of the requirements. When controlled by Nidhogg, the pair had searched for months without finding any gods. But still, he held out hope. 

“Is there a way for me―for us to do that? I…” Hiccup hesitated, fearing that Fenrir would refuse to help if he admitted his worries. Behind him, Toothless padded softly up to his rider. With a quiet nuzzle from behind, he looked up into the boy’s eyes. Slowly, quietly, Hiccup felt determination grow inside him. He straightened his back and turned to Fenrir, then replied firmly, “I don’t know how, but I will. Will you help me, Fenrir?”

“That’s more like it.” The god seemed satisfied, although Hiccup wasn’t sure exactly why. “We don’t need a weakling as a leader. Hold your head high, or you will be trampled like any other man. Remember that, boy.” 

Hiccup nodded solemnly, but Fenrir wasn’t paying attention. He kept talking.

“It’s difficult to find anyone with a blessing, but there are certain ways. What do you know of the Yggdrasil tree?”

“The...Yggdrasil tree?” Hiccup asked confusedly. Seeing Fenrir’s impatient glare, however, pushed him to speak. “I know it’s a great ash tree that heals those who eat it, and that it connects the nine worlds. Nidhogg lives―well, lived underneath it, and it―”

“That’s enough. You’re mostly correct, although that’s not what I was looking for. Do you know where its roots lie?” When Hiccup didn’t answer, the god continued. “It has three major roots: one in Midgard, one in Jotunheim, and one in Hel. In the lands of the humans, the giants, and the underworld. That’s what the legends say, at least. The truth of the matter is, those were simply territories held by those living near the roots. And while the tree has long been dead, its roots live on. They draw demigods to those same lands. Whether it is purposeful or coincidence, I do not know. But blessings are far more commonplace near the roots.”

Hiccup nodded, starting to understand what Fenrir was getting at. “So we’ll be able to find demigods to help us at the roots? That’s amazing! Where do we start?”

“I said we’d find those with blessings. I did not say we’d find suicidal demigods, boy. Tell me, would you be willing to pit your life against a god for no good reason?” Hiccup fell silent. The god had clearly thought out their plan farther than himself. Fenrir may not have named himself the leader, but the mind behind the assault was clear. “The Haven, for one. The root in the land of giants resides chiefly in that island. Do you think your mother, along with the rest of the demigods living there, will risk their peaceful lifestyles for this suicidal plot?”

“I don’t…” Hiccup was speechless; the sheer amount of complexity that was being dropped on his head felt like an ocean, but it all could be condensed into one drop: it would be nearly impossible to recruit anyone. Behind him, Toothless growled softly.

Fenrir jumped off his spire, landing on the mist-slick ground next to Hiccup. “But we have our advantages too. First,” The dragon gestured towards the pair, “we have the ability to recruit both humans and dragons. The potential for our army is greater than most. Second, we have two―perhaps two-and-a-half demigods.” Fenrir grinned a sly smile, and Hiccup returned it, albeit weakly. “And even more so, we have you, boy.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. If you have the ability to make something as intricate as that arm, you can make war machines. Once we collect supplies, you will be worth nearly another full demigod.” Fenrir nodded solemnly. “You’ll have to make use of every talent you have if you want to come out of this alive.”

Nodding assent, Hiccup said nothing. Ironically, knowing that he was needed in the grand plan in such a vital way reassured him. Fighting a god was one thing, but he knew mechanics like his own home. 

“So, what do you want to do, boy? It’s time to choose.”

Hiccup paused. He thought back over the conversation, although it had been short, it felt far longer. So much information had been dumped onto him, and his mind was struggling to keep up. But one thing stood out more than any other―they needed demigods, and they needed an army. Hiccup glanced down at his right arm, still holding Mjolnir and exposed, mechanics free to see as they whirred and clicked. 

And suddenly, it clicked in Hiccup’s mind, as well.

“I know what we need to do. Just give me some time to prepare...and I’ll need your assistance, Fenrir.”

* * *

Berk was bursting at the seams.

The port was bloated with dozens of ships from tribes across the archipelago, although the majority belonged to the four other tribes from their last strategy meeting: the Bog-Burglars, the Berserkers, the Visithugs, and the Meatheads. Trade bustled more heartily than ever, and Berk had become even more of a hotspot for traveling merchants. 

Past the docks, however, the town was pandemonium.

The Great Hall was overflowing with Vikings. Brawls were becoming a daily occurence―sometimes multiple times per day. Cooks were overworked, houses were overfilled and the smithy was a disaster. Gobber’s ornery temper clashed with many of the new arrivals, and productivity was at an all time low. 

In a lone house high on the mountain, Stoick was realizing just how terrible of a choice it was to host four extra clans on his portion of the archipelago. His headache hadn’t let up for a week straight. 

“I understand you aren’t to blame for all of your men, but they’ve been worse than the Berserkers, Ivar!” Said Stoick gruffly. 

“Just because our tribe is named Meatheads doesn’t mean you can push us around, Stoick. My men are just restless.”

“I―” Stoick started, impatience in his voice, but stopped as Bertha, the leader of the Bog-Burglar Tribe, interrupted.

“There’s a difference between restless and destructive, Ivar. We’re only weeks out. Can’t you tell your men to keep to themselves?” 

To be fair, the Meatheads were not the only problem. The Visithugs tended to cause small problems, like complaining that the food wasn’t cooked, or property damage. The Bog-Burglars were thieves, as the name implied, but most residents of the island had either hidden or nailed down anything of value. The Berserkers were simply chaotic. The Meatheads were the most problematic, however, causing fights, barging into houses, and other generally boorish behavior that was expected of Vikings on enemy territory―but not on allied land.

“My men are restless,” the tall man repeated, tracing a carved eye on the table with his fingernail. “We should leave now. No more preparation, no more talking. The demon cannot win against our combined prowess.”

“It destroyed multiple villages. Along with an army of dragons, we cannot afford to underestimate it.” Bjorn quietly said. He and his Visithug tribe had been the first to find the survivors, and he had been quietly feuding with Ivar since he had arrived.

Stoick and Bertha sighed in tandem, watching the two subtly argue with each other. The tension was pulled tight like a muscle, and the four figures were stone-still. A cold silence settled over the room, despite the warm crackling of the hearth.

“Hiccup really had nothing interesting going on, eh?”

Dagur poked his head down from the room that had been Hiccup’s, with a wide, fake grin stretched across his face that cut the tension like a fire through the woods. The four leaders’ heads turned towards him, and Stoick’s expression darkened. “Don’t disrespect my son, Dagur. Leave his memory to rest.”

“With a look like that, how could I refuse?” Dagur’s tone was light, almost pleasant, but his grin stayed just as fake. Jumping down the stairs, he slid out the door with an easy gait. With him, he took the tense mood, leaving only four tired chiefs. 

“I’ll speak with my men,” said Ivar, standing. “But remember what I said. The sooner we leave, the better.” Bjorn nodded, heading for the door as well.

The two left, and Stoick slumped into his chair facing the fire; Bertha pulled up a chair next to him. For a few minutes, the popping of the hearth was the only sound, punctuated by a soft scraping as Stoick fiddled with the poker.

“I’m not suited for this type of...alliance work, Bertha. I’m past my prime, and all the other chiefs know it. I need to find myself someone to pass on the title to.” Telling this to any of the other chiefs would be, at least in the social sense, suicide. But Bertha was an old friend, and no matter the questionable ways her tribe tended to do things, he felt safe confiding in her.

“I know. If it makes you feel any better, I’d be doing worse; at least you have some respect from them.”

Stoick chuckled weakly. “I’m considering two of our rising generation, Tuffnut Thorston and Astrid Hofferson. I’ve had them around, sometimes in on the chief meetings. I’m sure you’ve seen them.” Bertha nodded. “I just don’t know if either of them is ready. Tuffnut is brilliant, but he’s not particularly well-liked. His strength is lacking as well. Astrid, on the other hand, is the opposite―she reminds me of myself, ten, maybe twenty years ago. All teeth and muscle, not willing to stop to think. Not to say that she’s not intelligent, but…”

“Reckless?” prompted Bertha. “When I think of the feats you used to pull off, that’s the word that comes to mind.”

“Well, she’s certainly strong, that’s no question. But having to choose at all is...unpleasant.” The Chieftainess said nothing. She knew just how hard it was on Stoick―she had seen just how long it had taken for him to recover after losing Valka. Losing his son as well, she could only imagine. Her own daughter was close to what Hiccup’s age had been, and losing her would be the worst thing she could imagine.

As a sharp crack burst from a log in the fire, Stoick sighed. Not a tired, sad sigh, but a sigh from a man who had been carrying a burden for far too long. “Thank you for listening, Bertha. It means more than you would know.”

“Anytime, old man.”

“Hey now, you’re older than me, aren’t you?” 

“That’s not something you ask a lady, Stoick!” laughed the gigantic woman, giving him a very unladylike punch on the arm. After a moment, she continued, “anyways, I’m always willing to lend an ear. Ever since Valka was taken, you were never quite the same.”

Stoick grunted in response. Then, after a moment of silence, he murmured, “Was I...did I do enough for Hiccup? I worry I didn’t, but I don’t think I’d change what I did.”

Bertha shook her head. “Don’t ask yourself that now, Stoick. You’ll tear yourself apart.” She stood, and Stoick followed suit after one last adjustment of the remaining embers. “Let him live on in your memory, and hope that he went out fighting. At least that way you’ll see him in Valhalla.”

The two walked out and stopped for a moment to stare down upon the town. From where they stood, the houses looked like little building blocks, the people like specks moving about. The grass seemed a duller green than it normally did―but then again, everything had since Hiccup had disappeared. A mass of clouds approached the island, dark and full of anger, and the ocean faded to a dark blue underneath it.

“It’s going to storm.”

“A good night for it.”

The two walked down the mountain against a wind of light raindrops. They passed groups of Vikings, some of whom greeted the two Chiefs warmly. Others simply scowled or ignored them. It seemed that Ivar’s message had gotten around.

After a brief visit to the smithy, where Gobber was stewing in his own anger over the sheer impossibility of sharpening every blade on the island with only one full arm, the two made their way to the Great Hall. By the time they arrived, rain had begun to pound, and lightning shot across the sky. They opened the doors and slammed them shut once they were through. As always, the hall was packed to the brim: no seating available, and barely any good standing room either.

Both bonds and rivalries had formed over the slow arrival of the outside tribes. The Visithugs often found themselves eating with what was left of the Thorston clan; Stoick noted Tuffnut sitting in the middle of a large group of them. The Bog-Burglars, on the other hand, seemed to idolize Astrid, and by extension were friendly with the Hoffersons. Stoick didn’t see many of the women around, which worried him. The look on Bertha’s face didn’t help.

A chunk of the Ingerman clan seemed to be trapped in an argument against some of the Berserkers, Dagur included. Tori Ingerman, a prime candidate for taking up their clan’s leadership, wasn’t backing down in front of the different tribe’s chief. Just because she was a student of Gothi’s didn’t mean she was spineless, that was for sure.

Finally, the Jorgensons found themselves overpowering half the room with their scuffles―against the Meatheads, of course, who were fighting back just as hard. The Jorgenson clan had become insufferable since Hiccup had disappeared, and their constant clashing with the Meatheads hadn’t helped Stoick’s headache. A quick look around showed no sign of Ivar.

Stoick, grumbling under his breath, stomped over to the commotion―which had already begun to settle down a bit, after some of the participants noticed him. Shoving people out of his way, he reached the center of the fighting. With hands like bear traps, he separated the fighters and glared at them. First the Meathead, who withered like a child under his glare. Then the Jorgenson. 

With a sigh, he said, “I told you that this behavior would no longer be tolerated, S―”

But Stoick never got to finish the thought. All of a sudden, it seemed that the sky had broken loose, full of lightning and the drums of Valhalla.

First, with a screech and a flash of light that blinded every Viking in the room, the roof burst open. Not all over, but simply at one point, directly above the hearth. The sturdy wood tore like straw, opening to a dark sky.

Second, something landed in the hearth. The fire had been jumping about with the vitality of a dragon, but it was snuffed out like a candle in that bright moment, throwing plumes of ash high into the air and across the hall.

Third, a push of wind and a tumble of thunder rolled through the room. The doors swung open, and it seemed almost as if the wind rippled out of them, splitting the clouds of ash. As the Vikings’ eyes recovered and the ash settled, they saw two creatures as if straight from their myths. One was a Skrill, large as any dragon most had ever seen before, surrounded by lightning and swirling black clouds. Dagur and the Berserkers especially felt their eyes drawn to it, but even that was not the most shocking thing to be seen.

Kneeling in the hearth, was a tall, masked figure wearing dragon-scale armor of many colors. In its hand, a hammer was sparking with electricity. It stood, then searched the room with cold eyes.

“Vikings!” it boomed with an unfamiliar voice. “I have come to request your assistance!”

* * *

Hiccup’s plan had gone perfectly. 

He’d packed up the few belongings he’d brought to Fenrir’s caverns, and the trio had set off by midday. With a few discreet pit stops, Hiccup had found that nearly half of the fighters were gone from both the Bog-Burglar and Berserker tribes. The next closest was Berk. His old hometown.

Before they’d even arrived, it was obvious. From high in the sky, they could see ships from the Bog-Burglars and Berserkers, as well as the Meatheads and Visithugs fishing on Berkian waters. Either there was an alliance that had formed in the past year-and-a-half that Hiccup had been gone, or Berk had been taken over by its neighbors.

Hiccup doubted either was possible, but seeing Berkian ships in the water fishing alongside the other tribes seemed to point to the alliance.

The three landed in the woods, gliding quietly into the cove. From that point on, the three separated. Toothless set off to observe the town, using his newfound camouflage to hide in plain sight. Hiccup busied himself going through his books, metal scraps, and the like from before he had been abducted. There were signs of use that he didn’t remember leaving, and he hoped it had been the Thorston twins, not some thick-headed Viking who would tear through his collection like a typhoon. Fenrir, helpful as ever, found a nice patch of grass to take a nap on.

It was a rush of nostalgia, flipping through his old books. Even though the most important information had been memorized and utilized years ago, the smell of the parchment and the texture of the cover brought Hiccup back. For a bit, he simply allowed himself to relive some memories, both good and bad. Something about Berk was simply different, even compared to the strangeness of Fenrir’s caverns and the Haven.

The blueprints were most helpful, however. After going through his books, he turned to the wall above his smithy, where he had hung his original plans for the dragon-scale armor. While his current armor may have been more technologically advanced, his old drawings had certain quirks he could take advantage of, especially with a real furnace and anvil.

Finally, after sifting through the last of his scraps and papers, he allowed himself some rest. It was not the most comfortable nor the most satisfying, but Hiccup found a place to rest his eyes.

While Hiccup had been sorting through his old materials, Toothless had been making his rounds through the town. He cut through the air like a scream, but soft as a breath. With wide eyes, he watched Vikings moving about through Berk. 

While the Night Fury knew a bare minimum of the individual Vikings, he still had two important missions. From Hiccup, his task was to observe, to watch the ebb and flow of the different clans. The Great Hall, the smithy, the harbor. Even without knowing who was who, he could observe the social situation. From Fenrir, he had a test.

“Find the Vikings on the island with blessings.”

It was more difficult than simply seeing that mystical light inside someone. With the sheer amount of Vikings on the island, and the apparent rarity of the blessings, it was like trying to find a single grain of sand on a beach made of glass. But Fenrir had confirmed to him that at least one was on the island, so Toothless searched. 

As the day went on, the shadows grew longer, and Toothless returned to the cove. He hadn’t yet found any demigods, but he had suspicions―after all, Fenrir had once said that leaders tended to be blessed. But something threw his nose off, like a faint but pervasive odor that sank into the bones of the Vikings. He would find them. It would just take time.

Finally, as the sun began to set, Hiccup set his plan into motion. Fine-tuned by the information that Toothless brought back, there was nearly no chance of failure. First, Fenrir was sent away, far enough that the Vikings wouldn’t see him, and was to whip up a storm. It wasn’t hard, according to the Skrill, but it was an irritating process, and would take some time. After another hour of waiting, the dark clouds had begun to march towards Berk.

Making sure he had his armor on correctly, Hiccup mounted Toothless. The two shot off into the clouds, disappearing as they were enveloped. Below them, the rumblings of thunder reverberated, but above the clouds was a peaceful scene. The slowly setting sun seemed to set the tops of the clouds aflame.

“You ready, Fenrir?”

“Of course.”

“Toothless?”

The dragon gave a lopsided grin.

Hiccup took in a deep breath. His heart was pounding―no matter how he imagined the plan unfolding, he couldn’t help his nervousness. But he steeled his heart behind a stony expression. Now was not the time to falter.

“Alright. Fenrir, you’re first.”

With a grunt, the Skrill glided down into the clouds. They began to rumble even more as lightning began sparking across their surfaces. Hiccup attempted to absorb more lightning into his arm and Mjolnir, but he was at his limit. He knew that he had been, of course, but his nerves were practically jumping out of his skin by now.

“Now, Toothless.”

With a flap of now-invisible wings, Toothless pushed them up, then shot down through the clouds like a bullet. As the two burst out of the cloud cover, whipping past Fenrir, Hiccup identified the Great Hall and flung his hammer at it. He aimed above where he knew the hearth would be, the smoke-hole a fair enough target. The two followed the hammer’s trajectory, and the lightning focused around them, courtesy of Fenrir.

They struck the roof in an explosion of light and wood splinters. Mjolnir landed first, thankfully only hitting the fire. A moment later, Hiccup was deposited just on top of the hammer, and Toothless sped off. Despite his camouflage, he left a path through the ash clouds that, hopefully, no Viking would pay enough attention to notice.

Hiccup stood slowly. Above him, Fenrir writhed through the air, putting on a lightshow that no Viking could have ever imagined. The sky was dark and rain pounded down like fists. Around him, the Great Hall was filled to the brim with Vikings, many of whom he did not recognize. Dagur the Deranged gawked at the Skrill in the stormy sky, and Stoick the Vast stood in the center of the crowd, but for a moment, the whole room was silent. Inside his armor, Hiccup’s heart beat like a hammer on metal. With a cold look around the room, he spoke.

“Vikings!” he boomed in a deep voice. “I have come to request your assistance!”

Hiccup’s plan had gone perfectly. He just hadn’t quite anticipated the avalanche of Vikings scrambling, shouting, and groveling at his arrival.

* * *

Tuffnut’s day had been going surprisingly well, considering how quickly his days could be turned from good to bad. He’d harassed some Meatheads, had a conversation with Fishlegs, who was becoming more and more reclusive each day, and was having a meal with some of the Visithugs he had become friends with. 

But suddenly, his day went from good to great. And it all was due to an old friend’s return.

Blinking away the spots in his vision from the flash of light, he stared at the figure standing in the crushed embers of the hearth. He was not large by Viking standards, but as he straightened up and looked around the room, the crowd seemed to shrink. 

“Vikings!” boomed the figure with an oddly familiar voice. “I have come to request your assistance!”

The effect was instantaneous. A third of the Vikings bowed or kneeled, assuming they found any space to do so in the jam-packed hall. Even more brandished their weapons and shouted with voices more than a little nervous. Only a select few kept their heads about them.

“Magnificent” murmured Dagur, staring up at the Skrill. The frantic lightning had begun to subside, although some streaks still zigged across the sky. The Skrill, illuminated by static rippling across its skin, almost seemed to have a proud expression in response.

“Who are you?” asked Stoick sternly, the quarrel he had previously been dealing with forgotten. He stepped forward, to the edge of the crowd. A little ways away, Bertha followed suit. “Why have you come?” Although his voice was stern, there was an air of reverence in his tone. It was clear that this figure was something beyond them.

“Ragnarok nears, my friend.” it could’ve been Tuffnut’s imagination, but the figure seemed to stutter for a brief second, calling Stoick a friend. “I have come to recruit the strongest and the best of you.”

“The demon?” A whisper bounced about the room, and the figure heard it. He cocked his head.

“The attack on the villages, uh, sir?” one of the Visithugs at Tuffnut’s table offered. The figure turned to stare at them, and the young Viking froze in place. When the silence seemed to stretch, he added, “Ah, well, a few months back, a bunch of villages were destroyed by a demon riding a Night Fury. Is that related, sir?”

For a moment, the room was still. The figure nodded slowly. “It may well be, my friend. It may well be.” The words seemed pained, and the crowd became restless.

“You have yet to tell us who you are.” said Stoick evenly. “Are you perhaps a God, or a Valkyrie here to announce the coming war?”

“I am Thor. God of thunder, defender of Asgard. If any doubt me, state your name and step forward.”

The room was frozen once again, but the Vikings buzzed with excitement. A god in the flesh, in front of them? This would be a story worth telling.

“Lord Thor, I don’t mean to doubt, but could you show us proof that you truly are a god? Demons are notoriously tricky, and in our legends, Loki often disguises his true form.” This time, it was Bertha who had spoken.

“And you are?”

“Chieftess Bertha of the Bog-Burglar tribe, my Lord.”

“Very well.” Thor stepped out of the hearth, tracking ash onto the floor. The crowd parted around him like grass in the wind. Reaching a place he deemed suitable, he placed his hammer on the ground. For a moment, static shimmered around it. “My hammer, Mjolnir. Forged by dwarves in Svartalfheim. I trust you will find it as immovable as the legends say.”

With a respectful bow, the giant woman knelt down and gripped the hammer firmly. With a grunt, she strained to lift it―but after a few seconds, gasped and shrugged. Standing up, she nodded respectfully at Thor. Stoick approached the hammer as well, but to no further avail.

“Is that proof enough?”

Dagur, for the first time since seeing the Skrill, interjected. “No. That hammer may be magic, but you could still be fooling us. The demon rode a Night Fury, but who’s to say there was no Skrill involved either?”   
  


“What is your name?”

“Dagur. The Deranged, if you wanted my title.”

“I will remember that, my friend.” The word  _ friend _ seemed to be said with an undertone of malice, this time. Regardless, Thor reached out his hand, and the hammer flew into it, eliciting some startled jumps around him. Placing Mjolnir next to his foot, he slid a small knife out of a hidden sheath on his right arm, then reached out his left hand. Holding the knife in his right, he cut into the fabric covering his palm, and an orange, glowing liquid flowed out.

“Ichor. Blood of the gods. I wounded myself for you, Dagur the Deranged. Pray that your fortune stays.”

It was at this point that Tuffnut finally put the pieces together. The figure, the voice, the scale armor had all seemed so familiar. But until now, it had been an enigma. The dagger he had used to cut his hand, however, was different. He recognized the craftsmanship, the type of blade.

It was the same as the ones Hiccup had used. It was a shot in the dark, but…

“Lord Thor!” shouted Tuffnut abruptly, drawing the eyes of practically half the island onto him. “How can we be of assistance to you?” The figure turned to stare at him, and Tuffnut stared back, hoping to find some resemblance behind the mask.

“I will recruit the strong to fight alongside me. Those who have trained to their peak, or those blessed by the gods. I will not stay, but I will return. Those who wish to prove themselves to me will find it in themselves.” Lightning began to flash across the sky again, and the wind began to pick up. “Best of luck, Vikings.”

The doors burst open again, and in a flash of light, Thor disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Shouts and confusion broke out all around the hall. Tuffnut grinned to himself, even as the pandemonium erupted. 

This time, he had been quick enough to shield his eyes from the light, and he had seen something whip through the doors. It had been nearly invisible, but not quite perfectly. It had flown over the Viking horde, snatched the figure, and darted out the hole in the roof all as the crowd had been blinded. 

His gut told him that tonight would be a good night to investigate the cove.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! This chapter took forever to get out, a combination of writers block and no time to write is a good way to kill your fic. No actual new mythology to add, although I should mention that some of what I write will be my own narrative, mixed with the actual lore. Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading!


	25. Plotting and Positioning

Hiccup had never felt such a rush before, and he hated it. 

The hundreds of Vikings staring up at him with awestruck, hoping eyes had nearly crushed him under the pressure. Lying straight to their faces had been terrifying, and his mouth was drier than it had ever felt. His tongue felt like a fish flopping about. He could barely force air into his lungs, but despite the deep breaths that he was taking, his heartbeat kept vibrating through his ribs.

“That went well,” mused Fenrir, flying next to him. “Your speech was rousing, to say the least.”

“It wasn’t enough, I―” Hiccup said, “I don’t…some of the Vikings seemed suspicious. Or some figured it out. Dagur, or Tuffnut seemed suspicious, or m-my father, or―”

Fenrir twisted in midair to slap Hiccup with his tail, nearly knocking him off Toothless, who was flying silently and listening to their conversation. “It was enough.” he said. “You made a strong first impression, and what the Vikings cannot explain, they will attribute to magic. There will be time to prepare yourself for more. For now, relax.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Fenrir was right. Hiccup nodded, releasing some of the tension from his body. He kept quiet for the rest of the flight, thinking.

It was a short flight, one hidden by the now-dispersing storm clouds that Fenrir had summoned. With such a high viewpoint, Berk looked miniscule, like a grouping of insignificant clumps on a hill. The Vikings were barely visible. It was an oddly calming experience for Hiccup.

As he looked down on the town, his thoughts wandered―not for the first time―back to his friends he had lost by leaving. He hadn’t seen Fishlegs or Ruffnut in the crowd, but he had seen Astrid and Tuffnut. Astrid had been seated at a table with some of the Bog-Burglars and had seemed frigidly cold as always, even towards ‘Thor.’ Tuffnut, on the other hand, had been seated with a group of Visithugs, a slightly more respectable tribe. He’d spoken to Hiccup directly, asking how they could be of assistance.

But there was something else that Hiccup couldn’t place. When he’d stared Tuffnut down, the boy had stared back at a god, or at least what had seemed to be. There had been a cunning look on his face, one Hiccup recognized. 

Had Tuffnut seen through his disguise? Hiccup’s blood ran cold at the thought that he’d been revealed so soon. His peer was smart, there was no doubt about that. Was there something that could’ve given him away?

Hiccup looked down at himself, then almost laughed out loud at his stupidity. Everything made sense.

To the rest of the Vikings, armor made of dragon scales was a luxury, but nothing more. To one of the Thorston twins who had spent hours alongside him in the Cove, however, it was a different matter. _In fact,_ thought Hiccup, _that would explain why the Cove wasn’t how I left it. Things had definitely been moved._

Another disturbing thought came to Hiccup’s mind. What if, instead of figuring out who Hiccup was, Tuffnut thought that the ‘Thor’ who had burst into the Great Hall was an imposter? What if it wasn’t Tuffnut who had found his Cove? All of his revelations were built on these assumptions, but it was just as likely that he was wrong.

By the time the three landed in the Cove, Hiccup was panicking again. He dashed into his workplace and grabbed the few things he had brought with him. “We need to leave. Someone might find us here.”

“Who?” asked Fenrir unconcernedly, laying down.

“I...don’t know.” Hiccup said slowly. “It could be Tuffnut, but it might not be. If it’s not, everything goes up in smoke. If it is him, it still might. I…” he trailed off. Fenrir scowled, standing up from the bed he had stolen from Toothless.

“Explain. Calm down and explain.”

Frantically, Hiccup explained his reasoning―Tuffnut, the Cove’s abnormalities, and how they could end up leading the perpetrator to the Cove. Fenrir listened, and Toothless stood nearby, unsure how to react. When Hiccup finally stopped talking, Fenrir responded curtly, “Then, what do you plan to do? You are our leader.”

He caught his breath. He wasn’t sure what to do, and hesitated to make a choice that could be wrong. But every second that he hadn’t made a choice was a second that put him at risk for being caught. For a moment, he was silent, lost entirely in thought. Then, he made his decision.

“We need to move. It’s not worth the risk of being caught by someone unknown. I think...I could trust Tuffnut, but if it really wasn’t him, we’ll be in trouble.” 

Fenrir nodded, yawning. He said, “I think you’re mixing up your worries, boy. But stick by your decision. An indecisive leader does no one good.” he paused. “Perhaps leave a message only your friend would understand, should it truly be him.”

After a moment of contemplation, Hiccup agreed.

* * *

The mood was grim, but as the rain faded to reveal a dark sky, electricity seemed to run underneath the Vikings’ skin. It was an anxious, excited emotion that fizzled in the air and breath of those around. The leaders of each clan, along with the usual key figures that accompanied them, had all crammed into the smithy after the departure of Thor. Gobber had grumbled, but to no avail. After such an experience, many of the Vikings felt calmer around their weaponry, the greatest of their miniscule strength.

“―a foolish gamble, drawing its attention to you. No matter your bravery, a dead Viking is―” Stoick’s voice rose above the arguing for a moment, gruff and accusatory.

“―the boy saw that Thor had no ill will, Stoick! We should be preparing for his next visit, not running about like―” Bertha yelled back, putting a hand on Tuffnut’s shoulder. 

For once, Dagur was silent, sitting at the edge of the room and enjoying the chaos. He wasn’t the only one, although he was the only one sprawled out with a lazy smile. Tuffnut was stuck in the center of the argument. Ivar of the Meatheads and Bjorn of the Visithugs were both speaking to their men, learning what had happened. Astrid stood at the edge of the room, as expressionless as a slab of metal. Gobber had escaped to a back room, complaining about a headache.

“That’s enough!” boomed Stoick, stomping hard enough to make the floor shake. “We are not here to argue over small details that have already passed. We are here to decide how to proceed in regards to Thor.” 

“If I may ask, are we convinced that it truly was Thor? Could he have deceived you somehow?” asked Bjorn.

“Lord Thor gave us ample proof, both in his equipment and his body. Golden blood of the gods and a hammer that neither Stoick nor I could lift. I can speak for myself, at least, when I say that a boulder would be easier to lift than that hammer.” Bertha said, and Stoick nodded next to her. “I believe that we should prepare for his return, and begin amassing our strongest.”

“I don’t like it.” said Dagur from the side. “Something’s off about him.”

This prompted another wave of murmurs and arguments, raising voices and eyebrows. The crowd was split; most agreed with Bertha, but more than a handful felt suspicion towards the abrupt appearance of Thor. However, no one doubted that he (or it) was immeasurable. The sliver of power he revealed in the Great Hall was enough to cause desolation throughout Berk, yet he wasted it for simply announcing his arrival. 

“Did he say when he’d return?” asked Ivar, quieting most of the arguments.

Stoick shook his head. “No. Only that he would. We should prepare quickly.” 

“So you’re just going to roll over and let him take your best men? All of you?” Dagur said incredulously. He snorted, then stood. “Vorg, stay here and let me know if anything of _actual_ consequence is decided.” His second-in-command nodded, and the rest of the Berserkers followed Dagur out. 

After a moment of silence, Ivar said, “For once, I agree with the Berserkers. I have no men to give to a god for a fight we have no part in. Who is he, to demand our assistance?”

“How _dare_ you?” hissed Bertha, stomping her way through the crowd to stand face-to-face with the man. “This is one of our gods we are speaking of! There can be no greater honor than to fight alongside him―who are you to refuse?” Shouts began breaking out around the room once again, and Stoick lifted a hand to silence the room.

“Bertha, Ivar, put aside your differences for now. If you must argue, do it after we have decided how to prepare… actually, how should we prepare?” Stoick paused and his face dropped, realizing that he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Lord Thor said that he he would return.” Said Spitelout, Stoick’s too-ambitious cousin. “Should we not simply await his next arrival and ask him for his orders then?”

“A coalition of five islands, sitting about like sheep and waiting for orders? That would be shameful. Perhaps he is giving us a test, to see the best we can bring him on short notice.” said Bertha. Once she mentioned the idea of a test, the room hushed and nervous whispers began slithering about once more. “At the very least, we should show him our preparedness for war. Should we be lacking, we can then ask for his guidance.”

A murmur of assent bubbled through the crowd. Bjorn, with a troubled look, interjected, “but how should we prepare? What could we give to a god?” 

The leaders paused, each thinking. Conversation began to break out, no longer argumentative, but earnest, attempting to decide a path of progression. For the first time, the clans were in sync. Soon, the room was in agreement on most things―to empty a house for the god, to present him with a weapon, and to appoint a representative for the clans.

“Who should represent us?” asked Vorg, the Berserker’s second-in-command. He’d stayed silent since Dagur had left, but he spoke up now with an accusatory tone. “We should choose more than one, and from different clans. That way, there’ll be no cozying up to the god just for your own island.” 

“That’s an agreement I’m willing to make.” said Stoick, nodding.

“It would only be fair,” said Ivar, a wry smile hidden behind his beard, “to nominate the Thorston boy. He should take responsibility for the words he said in the hall, offering our servitude.” The room seemed to simultaneously turn their eyes towards Tuffnut, standing at Stoick’s side.

“That’s not for you to decide, Ivar. The boy―”

“That seems like a fine way to deal with it.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

Stoick began to protest, but was cut off as voices began to agree with the Meathead’s Chief. With an awkward pause, he looked down at the blond teen. The teen returned the stare, then turned away.

“I would be honored to serve as Berk’s representative.” said Tuffnut, stepping into the center of the crowd and smiling. A cunning smile. “I doubt Lord Thor has need for many assistants, however. We should limit the amount of Vikings we nominate.” Many people opened their mouths to shout out their recommendations, but Tuffnut wasn’t finished. “As Chief Ivar has so generously nominated me, we should instead let the other chiefs nominate their own men―or women.” he added, nodding respectfully towards the Bog-Burglar Chieftess.

Ivar’s face twitched, but he simply waved his hand as if he didn’t care. Vorg―and some of the chiefs, albeit under their breath―chuckled. “Now I see why Dagur likes you.” said the Berserker. “We don’t need a representative. Anything our chief wants to do, he’ll do himself.”

Tuffnut nodded and the conversations continued, with him now a focal point. He was not a chief, nor did he have the authority to order these Vikings about, but an outsider looking would've seen that he was surely in control of the room. Like a dragon battle, or a game of chess. The chiefs moved their pieces, and Tuffnut responded in kind. Move for move, capture for capture. Anything to maneuver himself into a better position.

Soon, the next representatives were chosen: a burly Visithug named Skarde, and a Bog-Burglar named Hilda who seemed to be friends with Astrid. The two of them seemed proud to be chosen. _The two least troublesome clans_ , thought Tuffnut with a small smile. As long as it wasn’t the Berserkers or Meatheads, he could get along with them. It was all just another piece moved across the chessboard.

Once the representatives were chosen, the meeting began to dry up. A house was decided by Stoick to prepare for Thor, and Gobber was set to work creating a worthy weapon to present. There were no more arguments, only discussions and debates. Soon, the Vikings began slowly funneling out, making their ways back to their ships or houses where they had taken up residence. Astrid and the Meatheads were some of the first to leave, while the Visithugs lingered, wishing to iron out details. 

As the Visithugs began to leave, Tuffnut moved to follow. At the door, however, he paused as a voice called his name.

“Tuffnut. Stay a moment.”

Stoick stood in the center of the smithy, seeming far less vast than his title would suggest. His shoulders were slumped, and his beard drooped. Tuffnut turned, waiting for his chief to speak again.

“I wish to know your reason for offering our service to Thor. You are not one to do something so reckless.” Stoick said heavily. His eyes were keen, even though his body was tired.

“It was...well, it was just a hunch.” Tuffnut addressed Stoick casually, having grown closer to him in recent months. It was common knowledge that both he and Astrid were candidates for becoming the heir to the island, and they had both become familiar with their chief as a result. “But I got the feeling that he had no intent to threaten us.”

“Hmm…” Stoick stroked his beard. “I can’t say I agree. But perhaps calling his identity into question led him to regard me poorly.” Tuffnut shrugged. The sound of hammering metal rang out from the next room over―Gobber had begun making the weapon to be offered. “That was not why I called you over, however. Ivar forced you into the spot of representative; I want to hear your thoughts.”

Tuffnut had not been expecting this from the headstrong chief. His reputation for disregarding diplomacy and flowery words was no error, so why was he asking for Tuffnut’s thoughts now? “Ah, uh, I’m proud to be chosen, certainly. I think there’s more to it, however.” Tuffnut responded, purposefully leaving his statement vague. “Although, if you don’t mind me asking, Chief, why do you ask? You’re not normally one to ask something like this.” He said, mirroring Stoick’s own words.

With a heavy sigh, Stoick let his hands drop to his sides. “After so long to think, I believe...I may have played a part in...Hiccup’s death.” He forced his son’s name out as if it pained him to do so. “I judged him too harshly, gave him too little praise. Perhaps I want to make it up to him somehow. Maybe it’s too late for me to change, but…” the chief grew quiet, but Tuffnut nodded.

“I understand, Chief. You hope to ask Lord Thor about Hiccup’s travel to Valhalla? I will do my best to tell you what I learn.” Tuffnut said, playing dumb. His suspicion about Thor’s identity hadn’t been confirmed yet, so he would instead play the part of a representative. Just another move in his game of chess.

Stoick sighed, but said nothing. While Tuffnut had seemed to misunderstand his intentions, the boy made a fair point. Thor was perhaps his last lifeline to learn what had happened to his son―but his duties as a chief came first. Cold as he may seem, he was a chief before he was a father. Stoick waved Tuffnut out. Once the boy left, he sat down on the nearest chair and placed his head in his hands. 

“Ye’ feeling alright, Stoick?” Gobber said, emerging from the back room, as the clanging of metal abruptly ceasing. Stoick didn’t answer.

“Was it really my fault that Hiccup disappeared, Gobber?”

Gobber opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment of thought, he responded, “Not that he disappeared, no. But other things?” Gobber wiggled his hook-hand. “Maybe.”

Silently, Stoick nodded. “I know.” He kept his face hidden, but no tears would come. Years of Viking pride and training made sure of that.

The two sat together, listening to the last of the rain roll off the roof.

* * *

Tuffnut left his home. He’d briefly returned after the meeting to check on Ruffnut, whose health had declined steadily in the past months. Plagued with nightmares that made her thrash about, feverish and weak, she was a pitiful sight. Not even Gothi could heal her, and not for lack of trying. 

Rumors flitted about the town about the Thorston girl, but Tuffnut refused to listen to them. She was no dead weight. In every way but title, he was the leader of the Thorston clan; he’d carried the clan from the brink of destruction single-handedly. If someone tried to pry Ruffnut from his protection, they’d have to walk over his dead body.

So after the brief check on his sister, Tuffnut left. Briefly checking to confirm no one was watching him, he set off to investigate the Cove. 

Quietly, he walked through the freshly wet forest. He took a path that, while difficult, would reveal anyone who attempted to follow him. Tuffnut was like a ghost―silently stalking through his lair with purpose unknown. The path he took, coupled with his caution and slow pace, took a little over an hour. Finally, he arrived at the Cove.

But three or four steps from the edge, just far enough away that he couldn’t see down into the giant pit of stone, Tuffnut stopped. He’d climbed his way to the top of Berk through his clever mind and brilliant strategies, but he trusted his gut more. In truth, his instinct was what guided nearly every clever move he made.

Tuffnut had a nearly supernatural sense of danger, a seemingly harmless trait that he had sharpened into his strongest weapon. Fighting against dragons, conversations with his fellow Berkians, and even debates against opposing clans. To Tuffnut, it was like a game of chess, and every move he made protected him from the potential dangers he felt.

And where he stood, three steps from the edge, his gut twisted with more intensity than he had ever felt.

Freezing in place, Tuffnut slowly turned to look about him. The forest was not still, it shifted and swayed with the wind and the fresh influence of the rain. But there was no one nearby; nothing but the creaking, dripping sound of nature that was diffused throughout the forest. No dragons, no Vikings, nothing. 

Staying rooted to the ground, he slowly removed a Zippleback-bone knife from his pack. While it would pose no danger to most dragons, a weapon in his hand was worth triple in a surprise attack. With clenched teeth and held breath, Tuffnut stepped up to the edge. Gut still painfully clenched, he looked down.

The Cove was just as empty as he remembered it, although it was waterlogged from the recent downpour. Small trickles of water poured over the high edges and splashed into the lake, which was bloated and swelling. There seemed to be no trace of anything alive in the giant pit, however―God, dragon, or otherwise. Staying alert for the source throwing his instincts into disarray, Tuffnut climbed down the Cove’s wall.

As he reached the bottom, the knot in his stomach lessened a bit; it wasn’t enough to put him fully at ease, but it likely meant that he had made the correct decision. Slowly, Tuffnut walked across the marshy floor and breathed in the smell of his surroundings. Despite the pain in his gut, the Cove was where he allowed himself to relax. Months ago, he’d come more often, searching for clues about Hiccup’s disappearance. Nowadays, with his duties in the town and in his clan, he rarely had the chance. 

Tuffnut walked quietly towards the small cave where the twins had spent hours with Hiccup. He remembered with a touch of regret that he’d left it rather cluttered, the last time he’d been looking through his friend’s books and blueprints. He’d clean that up, at least.

Stepping up to the cave’s entrance, Tuffnut squinted, reaching for where a candle should’ve been, but finding nothing. He grunted in annoyance. Suddenly, from a dark corner of the cave, a figure moved, and Tuffnut jumped in surprise. The figure marched forward swiftly, and the Thorston barely had the chance to react before he was grabbed by the front of his vest.

“Hicc, uh…” Tuffnut began, but paused, seeing a face he recognized in the faint moonlight. “Astrid? Wha...what are you doing here?”

With barely a grunt of recognition, Astrid let go of him and turned away, walking back into the cave and once again rifling through Hiccup’s tools and scraps. Tuffnut idly wondered how she could even see in the darkness. Finally, he found the candle and lit it. 

Lifting the candle, Tuffnut looked farther in. The once orderly shelves and boxes had been quite literally torn apart, and the blueprints and books laid scattered and torn. Astrid was tearing through a box of Hiccup’s blacksmithing tools, looking increasingly irritated. She looked up at Tuffnut, who had walked farther into the cave, and her eyes reflected the candle’s light with a strangely vacant expression, almost like a sleepwalker.

“Astrid, what are you doing here? Did you do all this?” Tuffnut gestured to the destruction around with the candle, throwing shadowy shapes across the wall.

“Why are you here, Tuffnut?” It was spoken like a statement. Astrid’s face was flat, inexpressive. 

He paused, unsure how to answer. His gut still ached, but he could tell that Astrid wasn’t what his instincts were screaming about. In fact, he felt nothing from her―which worried him even more. Even when she’d grabbed him, his instincts hadn’t reacted. Astrid was an enigma; she slipped right past his defences.

“Well, I come here occasionally. It’s where I can relax. Why did you wreck my books? It took a long time to collect them,” he bluffed.

“Did you come here when Hiccup was here?”

“Yes―wait, you knew that this was Hiccup’s spot? Why are you here, then?” Tuffnut tripped over his words. Losing the use of his instincts made him feel blind, although his gut still sent spikes of pain through his body regularly. 

“Have you come here recently? No, you’ve spent too much time in town for that.” Astrid asked, then answered herself.

“Uh,” Tuffnut said, “No, no. I’ve been here occasionally. It’s been, um, a few days.” It was a feeble lie, but he had the feeling that Astrid would’ve seen through him no matter how good the lie. “You haven’t answered me yet. Why are _you_ here?”

Astrid shrugged. “Looking around.” Tuffnut gritted his teeth at the stubborn, obvious lie of an answer. It was clear to anyone with eyes that she was looking _for_ something. He just didn’t know what.

“Tuffnut.” Astrid said. “I think that you should be wary of Thor. I don’t think he can be trusted.”

Nodding to placate her, Tuffnut looked about, hoping something would catch his eye. The interior was torn to pieces, however. The only things left in one piece were some half-made mechanics, the crooked furniture Hiccup had made himself years ago, and a chess board. 

A chess board?

He turned to look at the board, trying to remember whether it had been there during his last visit to the Cove. On it, a half-played game had been created, with neither side showing a clear advantage. Somehow, it hadn’t been destroyed by Astrid’s search.

“Are you listening to me, Tuffnut?”

“Do you know much about chess, Astrid?”

Now it was Astrid’s turn to be confused. “No. Why?” She turned her attention to the board.

“There’s a mate in two.”

“So?” Astrid was getting impatient. 

“So,” said Tuffnut, “I think that I’ll make my own decisions. But thank you for looking out for me.” He moved a rook, taking a vital piece. As he did so, the painful knot of instinct untwisted from his stomach, and he breathed a breath of relief. One more move was all it took for his suspicions to be confirmed. Hiccup, and likely Toothless, were near. If they were not the ones pretending to be Thor, they were certainly involved.

Astrid was silent. Tuffnut turned to look at her, then stepped back in shock. Her face, which had kept the same dull expression through the entire conversation, now twisted in anger; the signature cold glare that she normally wore throughout the village was warm in comparison. She stared at him, silently, barely breathing.

“Um, Astrid. Is everything ok?”

The silence continued. The girl’s fingers drummed methodically at her sides, but she showed no intent to move. She simply stared at Tuffnut, searching for something. She nodded slowly, mumbling to herself. Tuffnut had the feeling she wasn’t responding to his question.

“It would be safer to leave him for now. If he gets close to them, they will stay. Luring them away will be easy with the right bait. Fenrir...he will regret…” Astrid paused, blinking as if surprised to see Tuffnut still in front of her. She smiled at him. Somehow, it was an expression more frightening than her cold glare.

“I apologize, Tuffnut. It’s not my place to throw suspicion on Lord Thor. Congratulations on being appointed as a representative for him.” For a moment, Astrid’s gaze seemed to freeze Tuffnut down to his bones. Astrid’s eyes were dark and soulless. 

“Ah...thank you...Astrid.” stammered Tuffnut. Without another word or even acknowledgement of his thanks, the girl walked out of the cave. She walked to the wall of the Cove and scaled it. In a minute, she was gone, headed back to Berk. 

Behind her, she left a bewildered Tuffnut and years of work destroyed. 

Unbeknownst to both of the Vikings, a silent, pure-black dragon opened his wings above the Cove. With a leap, he soared into the black sky, disappearing. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new mythology this chapter, mostly just setting up for stuff in the next few. Let me know if you liked this chapter or not! Thanks for reading!


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